Finding Mr Hyde
by WitchGirl
Summary: “All human beings are commingled out of good and evil.” Greg never finished Jekyll and Hyde in high school but he's about to find out how it ends. [Sandle, rated for violence & language]
1. Animal

Finding Mr. Hyde

**Summary:** CSI responds to a quadruple homicide in suburbia. When one of them goes missing and another gets mauled, the case becomes a disturbing literary allusion and chillingly personal.

**_Author's Note:_** I haven't done this in a while so bear with me, and that is actually posting this story without being at least a few chapters ahead of the game. This is probably not a good idea, and will, with the help of your reviews, be edited. But the concept for this story just popped into my head when I woke up this morning and I just had to write it down and when I finished I was too excited not to post it. So yes, this is hot-off-the-press material, but it will be edited and revised as the story. Unlike my other CSI story, _Slither_, this one starts out rated-M, mostly for its excess of blood and gore. I'll try to keep the language to a minimum, however.

* * *

The night was dark and unforgiving as the raindrops crashed on the roof like the staccato notes of a well-played violin. The smell of fresh rain filled the modest suburban home. The warm glow from the kitchen spilt out into the cozy living room as the twins pounded video game controllers furiously. His wife and daughter were playing a quiet game of chess over the coffee table. His wife was on the couch, while Abigail was kneeling on the other side of the coffee table. 

He sat in an armchair, reading the Sunday paper on a Wednesday night, mostly because he had run out of other interesting things to read in the house. Reading was the only way he could focus when he found himself around his family on nights such as these. There were times when he wanted to scoop up the twins and just start tickling them madly. Sometimes, he did, and they got into a miniature wrestling match, the boys against the man. But Katy had told him to be careful with them. Sometimes, he hurt them, and they bruised easily. After Adam broke his finger and Aaron split his lip, Katy had forbidden their wrestling matches altogether.

He couldn't help loving them so much. He didn't know his own strength.

"Sweetheart, would you get Abby some hot cocoa?" Katy asked. "She beat me again, and I promised."

He looked over at her and smiled. "Of course." He slowly rose to his feat and folded the newspaper neatly on the chair.

* * *

"I don't say this often," Sara said as she took in the scene. "But this is absolutely disgusting." 

Greg was kneeling over one of the bodies and shaking his head. "Who would do this to a child?" he asked. "_Three_ children. Eviscerated like this? If you ask me, this is some sort of twisted cult ritual."

"There's no pattern," Grissom said, seeming fascinated by the blood on the walls. "I mean, they aren't assembled in a ritualistic way. They were just left here, like an animal attacked them."

"Werewolves," Greg muttered.

"What?" Sara said, flatly.

Greg looked up at her. "Full moon. Werewolves."

"There's no such thing as werewolves, Greg," Grissom said absently, still staring at the walls.

"Grissom," Greg said, looking closer at the little girl. "There are teeth marks here." He took a photo.

Catherine and Nick entered from the kitchen. "You can barely tell what the original wall color was in there," Catherine said. "There's blood everywhere."

"Our killer probably tracked it outside, too," said Nick, "but the rain has washed any hope of evidence away from there."

"These children have parents?" Greg asked.

"Our prime suspects," said Grissom. "Warrick and Brass are talking to the neighbors to get a feel for the family's personality."

"I'm going to check out the basement," Sara said. "Follow the blood trail."

Grissom was watching Greg as he stared at the disemboweled children. "Greg," he said, sharply. "Go with her."

Greg looked up at him with sad eyes. "Can't I stay here and—"

"Go with Sara into the basement," Grissom said. "Nick, Catherine and I have things covered up here."

Greg got to his feet. He was shaking. Sara put a kind hand on his shoulder. "Come on," she whispered. He nodded absently and followed her like a zombie down the hall, following the bloody floor boards where it looked like another body had been dragged. Greg said nothing as they walked single file down the hall. Sara looked over her shoulder to check on him every now and then. The sight of the three children had made all the color drain from his face. She opened the door to the basement and began to go inside when Greg grabbed her by the shoulder.

"I'll go first," he insisted, his eyes fierce.

Sara frowned, confused, having never seen him like this before, but acquiesced none the less as she stepped aside. He floated in front of her like a ghost as they made their way down the stairs and into the concrete basement. When they reached the bottom, both pairs of eyes were on the blood trail, following it to a pool of it, into which more blood was dripping.

Greg saw it first and grabbed Sara's hand. His action made her look up and she gasped.

"I think we just found Katerina Samson," she said in awe.

"_That_ looks ritualistic to me," Greg said.

The woman had been hung from the rafters from two wires that were tied around her wrists and cut into them. The blood dripped down her forearms and stained her white, toga like dress. There was a third wire which hung in the middle with a circular loop, which Sara and Greg deduced simultaneously must have been attached to the head, at least when it was still on her neck. The wire had sliced clear through her jugular and the head lay forgotten on the floor, her eyes as glassy as a porcelain doll's. Her head was crowned with laurel leaves. Greg's hand slipped away from Sara's grip as he squatted down to inspect the head.

"These leaves are dead and brown," he said. "Not something you usually use to make a wreath with."

"Uh huh…" Sara said, unable to take her eyes off the severed neck, upon which a crust of blood had solidified.

Greg looked up at Sara from the ground. "You OK?" Slowly, Sara shook her head. "Me neither."

"Grissom?" Sara called.

They heard the door close. Greg jumped to his feet and spun around. "What was that?"

Sara shrugged. "Maybe Grissom?"

"You call his name and he shuts the door?" Greg said. "Not likely."

"Start processing the scene…" Sara said, staring up at the door, her mind elsewhere. "I forgot my kit upstairs, I need to go get it."

She began to walk toward the stairs when Greg latched onto her hand again. She turned and gave him a puzzled look.

"Don't go up there," he pleaded.

"Oh please, Greg," Sara said, seeming to come out of whatever trance she had been in. "You'll be fine down here."

"It's not her I'm worried about," Greg said, nodding at the hanging corpse. "Are we sure this house is empty?"

Sara sighed and rolled her eyes. "I'm going upstairs."

"Let me go, you can use my kit," Greg said. She took a deep breath, looking frustrated, so he added quickly and desperately, "Please?"

Sara stared at the ceiling and sighed. "OK," she said. "Give me the camera too."

He did so, and she opened up the kit on a nearby tool bench as he made his way to the stairs. She listened to his footsteps as he walked up the concrete stairs, the rubber of his sneakers creating a smacking echo in the cold basement.

_Smack. Smack. Smack. Smack._

She began to hum as she snapped photographs of the body and the pools of blood surrounding it. She took photos of the rafters, wondering how the perp could have gotten up there in the first out.

Greg's smacking shoes had stopped. She heard the door open and close again and she was left completely alone. She tried to concentrate at the task at hand, but something about the basement put her ill at ease. She found a kitchen knife in the middle of the pool of blood and wondered at its purpose as the wounds inflicted on Katerina Samson were probably caused by the wires. When she was done gathering all the evidence, she looked for a chair or something to stand on to get to the rafters. She found none, which brought the question to mind again about how the killer did it. She put her hands on her hips as she contemplated trying to move the heavy work bench Greg's kit rested on. She heard the door again, but didn't look towards it.

"Greg?" she called over her shoulder.

There was no reply. She looked at her watch, then up at the body. Greg had been gone for ten minutes. That was more than enough time to get her kit. Unless he was briefing Grissom. Maybe that was what was taking him. She stood there with her hands on her hips staring at the body for a very long time.

The hair on the back of her neck stood on end when she heard heavy breathing coming from somewhere else in the room. She spun around and looked in the dim light cast by the single light bulb which swung precariously from the ceiling.

"Greg?" she called out nervously. "Is that you?"

He stepped out from beneath the stairs and slowly grinned at her with teeth that glinted sinisterly in the faint light. He wore jeans and a button down shirt, and his face was neatly shaven. His bright blue eyes reflected his intentions as he slowly strode towards her without a word. She backed away and ended up right against the hanging corpse of Katerina Samson, but she didn't care. She dug her nails into Katerina's white frock. He wielded no weapon that Sara could see, but just the sight of him frightened her.

She reached for her gun.

"Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to stay where you are," she said, pulling it out and aiming it at him. She felt something wet fall on her hair, like raindrops, and knew it must be Katerina's blood. He continued to advance. "Sir!" Sara said more firmly, getting a better grip on her gun. "I'm from the Las Vegas Crime Lab and if you don't cooperate, I will shoot!"

He did not seem intimidated by her threats. She narrowed her eyes and prepared to shoot. "Suit yourself," she said.

It was as though he'd known she was at the end of his patience. He leapt at her like a panther as she pulled the trigger. There was the sound of breaking glass and the lights went out. The gun flew out of her hands. She fell to the floor and he was on top of her, clawing at her like some sort of rabid animal, leaving deep scratch marks all over her arms and shoulders. He pinned down her shoulders and bit her hard. She screamed as loud as she could as the pain radiated from her shoulder into the rest of her body. He ripped her shirt open and began clawing at her stomach, his nails reaching deeper. Her tears began to mingle with the blood as she struggled against him, but he was stronger than her. Much stronger.

"_Sara!_"

Shots were fired and like a frightened cat, her attacker went rigid and then fled out the small window leading outside.

Sara stared up at Katerina Samson as she loomed over her like a bloody angel and panted hard. A drop of Katerina's blood fell onto the corner of Sara lips and she wiped it away with the arm she could move. Her shoulder was throbbing and her stomach felt cold and raw as the blood dripped down her sides. The scratches on her arms stung madly, like a chorus of bells screaming in her head.

Catherine and Grissom were standing over her and she was briefly aware of Nick by the window, trying to chase Sara's attacker. Sara looked from Catherine to Grissom in a daze, her eyes wide.

"_What the hell was that?!_" she demanded of them.

Catherine swallowed, her blue eyes wide and her expression clueless as she shook her head. She tried to speak but found no words and decided to bite her lip.

"Are you OK?" Grissom asked.

It seemed a stupid question to Sara. _No_ she wasn't _OK_. "I'll live," she replied instead, still breathing heavily.

"Greg!" Grissom called over his shoulder. "Get the paramedics!" He turned back to Sara. "We'll get you fixed up," he promised her.

"And we'll find the guy that did this," Catherine added firmly, finally finding her voice.

"Did you get him?" Sara asked, suddenly feeling very lightheaded. She blinked. "I mean, did he get shot? By you?"

"I don't think so," Catherine replied. "I was kinda shooting in the dark there, literally. I aimed above your heads so as to avoid hitting you by mistake."

"Greg!" Grissom called again, sounding irked that he hadn't responded. "Paramedics!"

Sara felt very cold. "Greg wasn't with you…?" she asked, breathless.

Grissom blinked at her. "No, sweetie, he was down here with you processing the scene, remember?"

Sara shook her head, exhausted. "No," she insisted. "No, no, he was up with you…"

"She's losing a lot of blood," Catherine said to Grissom in a low whisper and her voice sounded very far away.

Sara's head fell to the side and she closed her eyes. But something was very wrong. And more than just the fact that she was laying in a pool of someone else's blood with her own spilling out into the mess. "Greg…" she muttered, wondering what had happened to the boy, before she finally lost consciousness.

* * *

They had been out of marshmallows. But Abigail always liked her hot cocoa with marshmallows. It was the least he could do for his little genius. In fact, he refused to give her anything less. So he grabbed his coat and told them he was going to the store and would be back right away. He'd received an enthusiastic goodbye from his little girl who hugged his waist and two identical smiles from his boys. His wife blew him a kiss on his way out. 

On his way to the car he couldn't help thinking that he had the world's perfect family. He had never laid eyes on a woman more beautiful than Katerina Stewart, and never met a more driven corporate attorney. Their children were priceless and talented. Abby had skipped two grades already, becoming the youngest seventh grader in her school's history. She was really coming along with her piano and singing lessons. Adam had proven his prowess in theater by snagging the lead in the second grade production of Peter Pan. And Aaron's paintings were full of bright colors and shapes. He knew that with training, all his children could be prodigies.

It all boiled down to good genes, he told himself. His wife had them, and he told himself that he had them too. And together, they had produced the most adorable progeny the world had ever seen.

The nearest store that was still open at ten o'clock at night was a good fifteen minute drive away from home, but it was worth it. He would go to the ends of the Earth to make Abby smile.

Something flickered in his mind, like a television set receiving conflicting signals. But it didn't last long. Before he knew it, he was back at the house.

He saw intruders. Thieves. They wore black and had masks on. They carried guns. They were going to hurt his family. He didn't know what to do. He looked around. Should he call the police? What if they'd already hurt his family?

He held his chin high and resolved to be a hero as he strolled back into his house.

And after that, he remembered nothing.


	2. Blame

_**Author's Note:**_ This chapter is a little slow, and confusing, and even though I haven't written much of the next chapter yet, every confusing question brought up in this chapter has an answer. Also, romance (the Sandle promised in the summary) will come, just hold on.

* * *

When Sara opened her eyes again, it was a stranger's face she saw. 

"Who are you…?" she said.

"I'm a paramedic," the strange face replied. "Relax, you'll be OK."

He hoisted her bed up and rolled her into the ambulance. Behind the men in white, Sara could see Grissom talking with Brass and Warrick.

"Grissom…" she tried to call out, her voice dry and horse. He couldn't possibly have heard her, but as if on pure instinct his head turned to look at her at that moment. Seeing she was looking at him, he jogged over.

"Hey, Sara," he said, from the ambulance doors. "You're awake."

"I feel it won't be for long," she said. "What's going on?"

"You lost a lot of blood," Grissom said. "I'll talk to you later when you're more awake."

But she had more pressing matters to deal with. "Where's Greg?"

If Sara hadn't known Grissom so well, she would have said he looked completely calm and relaxed when he answered her. "He's somewhere."

"That's not an answer," Sara pointed out.

"I'll talk to you when you're awake," Grissom said, making as if to leave.

"Wait!" Sara called after him. "Please, stay? Greg left. Will you stay?"

He smiled at her warmly and reached in to take her hand. "You know I would if I could. But I have to find Greg."

Sara nodded. "See you when I wake up," she said, before tilting her head back and losing consciousness again.

Grissom watched the doors to the ambulance close as they drove off with sirens blaring. He turned back to Warrick and Brass.

"You're sure you didn't see anything?" he asked again.

Brass shrugged. "We were talking to the Carters next door. Said the Samsons were the perfect family. Idyllic in almost everyway."

"Not everyway," Grissom muttered.

"You think that guy who attacked Sara could have gotten Greg too?" Warrick asked.

"It's not impossible," Grissom replied. "It's not like Greg to just get up and leave a crime scene. He was pretty shaken up looking over the bodies of those kids though. Maybe he needed a moment?"

Nick rounded the corner of the house, his hands balled into fists as sweat rolled down his face. He saw Grissom and walked over to him.

"This is messed up," he said. "As soon as that guy jumped out of the basement he took off across the neighbors yard. I chased him for a good five minutes before he finally came back round to the house, jumped in a minivan and took off so fast he left tread marks. He led me on a damn wild goose chase."

"Did you check the tire tracks?" Grissom asked.

"Done and done," Nick replied. "What do you take me for, Grissom?"

He sounded defensive. Grissom sighed and took of his glass with one hand and rubbed his eyes with the other. "I have a feeling this is going to be one long night."

"I found Greg's cell phone in the backyard," Nick said, holding it up in an evidence bag. "Which means he must have dropped it. Or someone made him drop it."

Catherine came up next to them, hanging up her phone. "That was Ecklie," she said. "This case has just become top priority."

"Wasn't it already top priority?" Warrick asked, wearily.

"It's become top _top_ priority," Catherine replied with a little bit of a bite. "I don't know. He wants us to finish up here fast and get back so we can find Greg and this killer as quick as possible."

"Listen," Grissom said, his eyes still closed and already exhausted at 12:00AM. "We're all upset, lets just get this done and over with before we start yelling at each other. Warrick, go take down that corpse in the basement, I think Sara was pretty much finished processing the scene but just make sure. Catherine, go finish up with the three kids. Nick, is there anything else you can do other than cataloguing the tracks?"

"With all due respect, Grissom," Nick said, "I'd rather just go back to the lab now and start processing what I've got. I don't think there's anything there."

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves, we don't want to miss anything here," Grissom answered.

"Fine," Nick said, gritting his teeth.

They all lingered for a moment. "Well," said Brass, looking at each of them in turn. "You heard the man. Scatter!"

With heavy feet, and even heavier hearts the CSIs walked in their respective directions, leaving Grissom and Brass alone.

"And what are _you_ going to do?" Brass asked him.

Grissom's face remained inscrutable. "I think I'll go help Catherine out," he replied. "We'd only done the two boys before we heard Sara's gun go off."

"Good," said Brass. "I'll head to the hospital. I'll page you when she wakes up."

"Thanks," said Grissom gratefully, and he headed inside.

He saw Catherine zipping up an evidence bag and putting it back in her kit. She looked up at him upon his entrance and gave him a weak smile. "Hey," she said.

"You almost done in here?" Grissom asked.

"Uh…" Catherine said, scanning the scene. "Yeah, I think so." There was a beat. "Nick is pissed."

"I noticed," Grissom replied.

"We're all a little pissed," Catherine added.

"I noticed that too," Grissom said flatly.

"Except you," Catherine noted.

"I'm too tired to be pissed," Grissom said.

"Sara was attacked and Greg is missing, and you're too tired for emotions," Catherine said, closing her kit angrily. "How very like you."

"Sarcasm is the lowest form of humor," Grissom said.

"I wasn't trying to be funny," Catherine replied.

When the front door started to open neither one thought much of it, expecting it to be Nick or Brass. Catherine looked up to greet a colleague and then stopped when she didn't recognize him.

"Sir," she said. "This is a crime scene, I'm afraid you can't come in here."

Grissom turned around and frowned at the confused looking man, who was carrying a brown bag of groceries.

"Crime scene?" he repeated, sounding baffled. "No, this is my house. Would you please leave?"

Catherine and Grissom exchanged looks. "Mr. Samson?" Catherine said.

"Yes," he replied. "Yes, I'm Matthew Samson. Who are you? Where's my family? Why is… Oh God." He seemed to have just noticed the gory scene, and Catherine wondered why he hadn't seen it right away. The blood was everywhere, and they still had yet to collect the bodies, which were sprawled out in a very gruesome way.

Mr. Samson clutched at the door frame to keep standing. He clutched at his stomach and ran outside where Grissom and Catherine heard him throw up.

"That wiry guy did all this?" she said to Grissom. "He doesn't look like he could stomach it."

"Literally," said Grissom, looking after him. "If Brass is still here, have him talk to Mr. Samson and figure out where he's been these past two hours. I'll take care of the children."

* * *

Nick folded his arms as he and Catherine watched Brass question Matthew Samson, who looked like he was scared out of his mind. His hair was disheveled and his glasses were askew. He fidgeted with his hands. At first glance, he didn't look like a man who could kill his own family, but Catherine and Nick had learned not to judge a book by its cover. 

"I told you," Matthew was saying. "Abby wanted marshmallows, so I went to the store to get them. When I came back, you guys were there."

"We checked with the store," said Brass. "You arrived there at 10:30. Your family was murdered at 10:00."

"That's impossible," said Matthew. "I left the house at ten, they couldn't possibly—"

"It's a fifteen minute drive to the store," Brass said. "And at 10:00 at night, there should have been minimal traffic."

"Th-there was," Matthew stuttered. "My family was _mutilated_. I _loved_ them. Oh God…" He began to sob uncontrollably.

Brass looked annoyed, but his voice was soothing. "I'm very sorry for your loss. But you're the only suspect in this case, and your alibi doesn't play out."

"I know…" the man sobbed. "I know. But I don't know how to make you understand. My kids were my _world_. To see them like that… I will never be the same again."

Nick leaned into Catherine. "When Sara wakes up, you think she could ID this guy as her attacker?"

"_If_ he attacked her," Catherine said, shaking her head. "I don't know. This guy seems really out of it. He waved his right to a lawyer. And whoever jumped Sara was strong, strong enough to rip into her stomach like that, and this guy looks... Anyway, we have a dental impression, Warrick's comparing it to Sara's shoulder wound and the teeth marks on the kids. If it is him, we should know soon enough."

Nick's hands opened and closed into fists. "Jesus, Catherine, where the hell is Greg?"

Catherine remained silent and stoic as she watched Brass pace up and down. "Maybe this guy can tell us."

"And maybe he can't," Nick replied. "What if it isn't him?"

"He goes to the store for _two hours_?" Catherine asked. "At midnight? No. That doesn't make sense. And the way Katerina Samson was strung up like that, that wasn't a random act of violence."

"You sound conflicted," Nick pointed out.

"Aren't you?" Catherine replied, sounding baffled. "I mean, this whole thing is so twisted… He acts like he's not guilty despite all the evidence against him."

"I wanna go back out there," Nick said, impatiently. "Those tire tracks belonged to a Ford Windstar. I didn't catch the complete plate number when I was out there, but Archie is looking for partial matches. But even if it does belong to Samson, that doesn't mean the attacker didn't steal his car."

But Catherine frowned. "Wait a minute…" Catherine said. "The Samsons only have one car."

"Did we check what car it was Matthew Samson drove up in?" Nick asked.

"I don't think so," Catherine said. "Grissom and Warrick were collecting the bodies, I was talking to Brass and you were looking at the tread marks on the street."

"Tell Brass," said Nick. "I'm going back to the crime scene."

Before Nick left, Catherine couldn't resist calling after him. "So Grissom was right after all, about missing things?"

Nick's shoulders went rigid. "Anytime but now, Catherine. I'm not in the mood."

* * *

Sara woke up in the hospital room and saw Sofia sitting by her bed. She smiled at her. 

"Good morning," said Sofia quietly.

"Have I been out that long?" Sara asked.

"Not _that_ long," Sofia replied. "It's about two o'clock. Grissom sends his apologies. They're still looking for Greg."

Sara nodded. "So he is missing. I figured as much."

"Well," said Sofia, shifting in her chair. "I'm here, of course, to support you, but I also need to get your statement."

"Right," Sara said, shaking her head to clear it. "Yeah, sure, of course. Um… Greg and I went downstairs following the blood trail and found Mrs. Samson hanging from her wrists from the rafters, her head was on the floor. And… I forgot my kit, but Greg said he wanted to get it, so he left and I processed the scene. I was trying to figure out how to get her down when I heard someone else breathing somewhere in the room. So I drew my gun, told him to stop, but he didn't. I pulled the trigger right as he jumped me, he knocked my arm up, I hit the light bulb, and he just attacked me like an animal… Then, there was screaming, and someone fired another shot, I think Catherine said she did… and he ran. Nick went after him, and Grissom and Catherine were there… That's all I know."

"Hm…" Sofia said, looking at her notes. "So Greg went upstairs and that was the last you saw of him?"

"Yeah," said Sara. All of a sudden, she remembered something. "Oh! The door opened and closed twice, once when Greg was with me, and once when he was gone."

"So the perp was in the room with you when Greg was there?" Sofia mused.

Sara shrugged. "Maybe. It might have just closed on its own."

Sofia wrote it down and smiled at Sara. "Thanks," she said. "You look great."

"And here I always thought you were a crafty liar," Sara said with a smirk.

"Doctors say you can be out of here in no time," said Sofia. "You lost a lot of blood, but other than that you're fine."

"Can I help find Greg?" Sara asked.

Sofia bit her lip. "I think Grissom wants you to take a day or two off before coming back to work."

"Aw, screw Grissom," Sara said. "I'm ready to get back to work now."

"Doc said you can't put weight on your feet," Sofia warned. "You'll fall over. Or something."

Sara made a face at Sofia before swinging her legs over the bed. She regretted the action immediately afterwards, as twisting her torso tore at her stitches, sending a ripping pain throughout her stomach. She let out a gasp of surprise and Sofia stood up and forced her back into bed.

"Don't say I didn't warn you," said Sofia with a smile.

Sara groaned and rolled her eyes. "Yeah, right," she said. "I only have myself to blame."

All of a sudden, a phone began to ring somewhere in the room. Sara and Sofia looked at each other.

"Is that your phone?" Sara asked.

Sofia reached into her pocket and took it out as she shook her head. She looked off into the corner of the room. "I think it's yours…" she said, striding over to Sara's clothes and purse on the table. She went and got Sara's purse and handed it to her. The phone continued to ring as Sara dug through her purse and found her phone. She didn't recognize the number.

"Hello?" she answered.

"Sara? Thank God."

Sara frowned as the breath caught in her chest. "Greg?"

Sofia's jaw dropped. She immediately started dialing something on her own cell phone and turned away from Sara.

"Yeah," came Greg's voice, sounding hurried. "Uh… Sorry to bother you, it's just yours was the only number I could remember. Listen, I have no idea why I'm here or where exactly 'here' is."

"Are you outside?" Sara asked, hearing cars in the background.

"Yeah," said Greg. "I'm using a pay phone, somewhere on the strip. Sara, weren't we processing a scene in suburbia? Why did I end up here?"

"Sara?" Sofia whispered, still on the phone. "Grissom's on his way."

Sara nodded at Sofia. "OK, Greg, listen, stay right where you are, we're going to come and get you. Do you know where on the strip you are?"

"Uh… somewhere… Oh. The Flamingo. Caesar's Palace."

Sara looked at Sofia. "Tell Grissom he's outside of the Flamingo."

Sofia nodded and did just that.

* * *

Nick pulled up to the outside of the house and recognized the Windstar as the minivan Sara's attacker had driven off in. It was parked in the Samson driveway as if it belonged there. He bit his lip and took his kit out of the car, getting ready to process the van. 

His phone began to ring. It was Grissom. He answered.

"Hey, Grissom," he said. "Listen, I'm at the Samson place, the car Matthew drove up in looks like the same one that our perp drove _away_ in. I'm just about to see what I can get out of it."

"That's great, Nick," said Grissom. "I have good news. We found Greg."

Nick's heart skipped a beat. "Is he OK? I mean—"

"He's fine," said Grissom. "According to Sara he's just a little shaken up. He's on the strip, I'm on my way to pick him up now. He has no idea how he got there."

"Samson probably took him when he fled the scene," Nick guessed. "Knocked him unconscious, dumped him out by the strip."

"Except for that the time that passed between our attacker's quick exit and Samson's arrival isn't long enough to drop Greg off in front of the Flamingo."

"Maybe we're not just dealing with one guy," Nick suggested.

"I don't know…" Grissom said. "This is twisted."

"At least everybody's OK," said Nick.

"The Samson family isn't."

Grissom always had a way of spoiling the moment. "Can Sara ID her attacker?"

"She says she could if she saw him," Grissom replied. "But she can't leave the hospital just yet."

"So we wait," said Nick.

"We wait," Grissom replied. "Do me a favor Nick, go over the crime scene again. I feel like we're missing something crucial."

"Sure," Nick agreed. "I will."

"Thanks."

"Call me when you get to Greg," Nick said.

"Of course," said Grissom.

Nick hung up the phone and looked up at the house. Instinct told him to go inside. He looked at the living room, still covered in blood. Nothing they didn't already document. He followed the blood trail into the basement and turned on his flashlight. The blood puddle was still there, waiting to be cleaned up. He looked around the room and paused as he lit up the wall beneath the stairs.

It was written in blood, and Sara would probably have seen it if she hadn't been attacked.

HE IS NOT TO BLAME

* * *

Warrick looked over the body as he waited for Dr. Robbins, who entered the room and closed the door. 

"Pretty, wasn't she?" said Robbins as he walked over to Warrick.

"When she had a head," Warrick said. "So did she bleed out or was she decapitated?"

"Well," said Robbins. "She was probably unconscious but alive when he hung her up there. She had a nice bump on her head that he probably knocked her out with. The wires were tight and sharp. Her wrists were almost cut completely off by the time you took her down. My guess was most of the weight was bared by her neck, which the wire slowly cut through."

"And she was _alive_ through all of this?" Warrick said.

"You don't have to slice very far into the jugular for it to be lethal," Robbins pointed out. "But pretty much, it was a slow death, yeah. Also, there's something else, the reason I called you here."

"What is it?" Warrick asked.

"Well," said Robbins. "Grissom said Sara bagged a knife at the crime scene, but didn't know what it had been used for; I think I answered that question. Now _these_ were inflicted post mortem, probably while she hung there." Robins pulled back the sheet to reveal precise incisions on her stomach.

"Does that… does that spell out words?" Warrick asked, looking closely at the lacerations.

"Yes, I noticed that too," said Robins.

Warrick furrowed his brow as he read the phrase aloud. "Blame her."


	3. Split

**_Author's Note:_** I'm pretty far ahead of myself, enough to update probably every day now... I'm happy with the way this is turning out. And... I didn't really stick to the not-using-so-much profanity thing, mainly because it was cruscial that I used it. It's rated M, I got nothing to fear.

Also, faithful question-askers, specifically necira... Wonderful things to be wondering about. And very, very key.

* * *

Grissom saw Greg standing by the pay phone in front of the Flamingo. He was pale, but other than that he looked unharmed. Grissom pulled up next to the curb and rolled down the window on the passenger's side. "Get in," he said. 

Greg gratefully obliged without a word and Grissom turned into the parking lot of the Flamingo. "What are you doing?" Greg asked, anxiously.

Grissom gave him a blank look. "You woke up here, right?"

"Sort of," said Greg. "I mean, yeah. So?"

"So if it was someone trying to dump you," Grissom said, "there might be evidence."

"There is no evidence," Greg said, a little too hastily. "Just, can I go home now?"

Grissom parked the car and looked at Greg long and hard. "Greg, are you OK? What do you remember?"

Greg buried his face in his hands. "Ugh, nothing, _nothing_, and that's what's bothering me."

"Where did you wake up exactly?" Grissom asked.

"Um…" Greg closed his eyes tight and opened them again. "At the phone booth?"

"So your kidnapper dropped you by a phone, next to a busy road, in front of a popular casino?"

Greg stared out the window, his brow furrowed as he tried to sort through the muddled mess that was his memories. "I don't remember another person…" he muttered, more to himself then to Grissom.

"What do you mean?" Grissom asked.

"I mean I don't remember getting kidnapped at all," Greg answered, turning to look at his boss. "I remember going upstairs to get Sara's kit, and then I remember calling her on the phone. Point A to point B, I just don't know what route I took to get there."

"Wait," Grissom said. "You don't remember waking up?"

"No," Greg said. "I just remember making that phone call."

"You didn't ditch the scene to go gambling, Greg," Grissom said, shaking his head.

"Didn't I?" Greg asked. He looked scared, and more than he probably should have. There was something he wasn't telling Grissom, either because he couldn't remember, or because he felt guilty about something.

"Greg," said Grissom, "you do a lot of stupid things, but that's not one of them."

Greg seemed to decide something. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a wad of money. "I found this in my pocket when I was looking for a quarter to call Sara. I don't know where it came from."

Grissom noted the paper that bound the bills. "That's the Flamingo's logo…" he said, then looked up at Greg. "OK. I'll take you to Brass."

"Thank you," said Greg, sounding relieved as he leaned back in the seat. As Grissom drove down the strip, Greg stared out the window at the bright neon colors and lights that made Las Vegas so famous. His mind was like a Playboy magazine with all the naked girls cut out of it. He could remember every mundane detail about the crime scene but he couldn't remember shit about the important things. Something very important happened in the three hours that he had disappeared from the scene, but all he could remember was going to get Sara's kit, then calling her on the pay phone. It was like he was watching his favorite TV show and someone switched the channel on him. But for the life of him, he couldn't figure out who pressed the button or why.

"You're awfully quiet," Grissom noted.

"Don't have much to say," Greg answered honestly.

"You always have something to say," Grissom replied.

"Not tonight," said Greg with a shrug. "I'm just trying to piece things together."

Grissom glanced at Greg out of the corner of his eye. "Greg Sanders has nothing to say. Better pack your ice skates because it's going to be a cold night in hell."

"No kidding," said Greg as he rubbed his arms. "It's freezing in here, could you turn up the heat?"

Grissom glanced at the digital thermometer. "Greg, it's 85 degrees in here."

"Please?" Greg asked.

Grissom tossed him one of the Forensics jackets and Greg put it on. "So… what do you guys know about the Samson murders?"

"We have a suspect in custody," said Grissom. "But we're not sure. We're waiting for teeth impressions, and Sara to ID him."

"ID him for what?" Greg asked, suddenly very interested.

Grissom bit his lip. "She was attacked, Greg."

"Is she OK?" Greg said, nervously. "What happened to her? Did he hurt her? Can we hurt him?"

"She's fine," said Grissom. "She's anxious to get a look at Matthew Samson, but the doctors are trying to keep her off her feet."

"Can I see her?" Greg asked, his voice quiet.

Grissom smiled. "Sure," he said. "After we sort things out back at the lab."

"Of course," Greg said. "But I don't know what I can do."

"People are just glad you're OK," Grissom said. "Which reminds me, call Nick." He tossed his cell phone to Greg.

Greg looked at Grissom's phone curiously. "Do you know where my phone is?"

"In evidence," Grissom replied. "Nick thought that if someone ripped it away from you, there might be prints."

"No," said Greg. "I think I just dropped it."

"You can probably get it back when we get there," Grissom said.

"Why am I calling Nick?" Greg asked, holding the phone to his ear.

"He's just worried about you, that's all," Grissom replied.

Nick answered the phone on the third ring. "Hey, Grissom, you were right. The writing's on the wall, and from the looks of it in Katerina Samson's blood. It says 'He is not to blame,' whatever that means."

"Hi, Nick," Greg said.

There was a moment of silence. "Greggo?"

"Damn straight."

Nick laughed. "Aw, man, it's good to hear your voice."

"Hey, you too," Greg answered. "What did you say about the wall?"

Grissom looked over at Greg curiously. "Nick has some evidence for me?" he asked.

Greg nodded. "Why don't you tell Grissom about it?" he said, and handed the phone over.

Something about the words chilled Greg and he didn't know why. The black hole in his memory wouldn't diminish, no matter how hard he tried. Not even a fuzzy image came to mind. He had lost himself somewhere in those three hours and he couldn't find himself again.

* * *

Why find yourself when you can be found by someone far more interesting, he thought to himself as he strolled into the Flamingo Casino. He had ditched his work vest and jacket for the sleek secret agent look, the kind where he dressed all in black and wore sunglasses indoors. It drove the girls crazy, and helped him keep his poker face. 

He strolled up to the table like he owned the place and sat down, making sure to lower his glasses and wink at the security cameras. Someone had to know he had been here.

"You in?" the dealer asked.

"Hell yeah," he replied with a slick grin. "Deal me in, Sparky."

He lost a few rounds to make it look legit. He was a son of a bitch who knew how to cheat, and cheat damn well. Soon enough, he'd earned the attention of several gamblers, plenty of them sexy young things whose favorite game of luck was lust and they were dying to play with him.

There was one he was particularly fond of: Amber with the cinnamon hair. He told her that it was unexpected, to meet a girl named Amber who wasn't a bubbly redhead. He also told her that he'd always had a thing for brunettes. They bantered and flirted and did more than flirting as he swung her around and played her the fool. They discussed and they drank, they dreamed and they danced to the vocal stylings of Barry Manilow.

She wanted to go up to her room. He wanted to do her right there on the craps table. They compromised on a public bathroom.

By two o'clock his stamina began to fail him and he tossed the girl his winning smile before he turned his back on her forever.

* * *

Brass slammed the results Warrick handed him on the table. 

"You might want to call your lawyer," he said sinisterly to Matthew Samson, who looked up at him like a scared little puppy dog.

"But why?" Matthew said. "I really don't understand, I've never hurt anything in my life. I can't even kill a spider when Abby gets scared. Aaron and Adam take care of that for me. They always…" Matthew trailed off suddenly, as though he just remembered they were dead. He snapped back into the moment and looked directly into Brass's eyes. "I did not kill my family."

"I highly suggest calling your lawyer," Brass said. "Or else you're fresh meat for the inmates over at the state prison. The results came back on the dental impression you gave us. They match the bites on your children."

Matthew looked terrified as he shrank into his chair, every pigment of color fleeing from his face. "I'll give you my DNA," he said quickly. "I'll let you check my teeth again, please, there has to be some mistake I would _never_ in my _life_ do anything to hurt my family, _please_."

Brass took a seat across from Matthew and stared at him long and hard. It was his job to fish out the liars from the honestly innocent, and this man was making his job really tough. He refused a lawyer. He even offered up his DNA before they even asked for it. And yet all the evidence they had pointed to him, so he had to be lying. Something in Brass's gut told him they were missing some very vital information. "Did I mention," Brass said icily, "that your dental impression also match the wound on Sara Sidle's shoulder?"

Matthew was utterly perplexed. "I don't even know who that is!" he exclaimed.

"She's the CSI you mauled," Brass said sharply.

"Look, I didn't _maul_ anyone," Matthew snapped, finally getting angry. "Your evidence is _lying_ to you, I went to the store to by my precious baby girl some marshmallows for her hot cocoa because that's the way she likes it. It's a small kindness I wish I'd never thought to do as if I hadn't left that house, my family might still be alive!"

"Evidence doesn't _lie_," Brass said firmly, glad that Matthew was getting angry. Matthew Samson's fear and bafflement had been a sign of ignorance, but his anger was something Brass could work with. "People lie, Mr. Samson. You clawed and bit your children to death and then you strung up your wife by her wrists and neck which sliced into her like a knife into butter and—"

"_Please!_" Matthew yelled, his knees up by his chest and his hands over his ears as he shut his eyes as tight as he could. Tears streamed out of the corners of his eyes. "Please…" he begged, quietly. "Please, just don't talk about them that way. You can't _talk_ about them that way."

Brass wasn't sure if he should be apologetic or furious, which was a major dilemma for him, and one that came rarely. It was his job to read people, but Matthew Samson was a book written in a different language. Frustrated, he slammed the table and left the room, where Catherine was waiting for him.

"It's an act," she said firmly. "He can't be serious."

"I'm getting conflicting signals here," Brass said. "I don't know what to believe. There are times when I am convinced he's lying and times when I just can't help but believe him."

"He's playing you, Brass," Catherine said. "The dental evidence isn't all we have, but it's definitely all we need to go to trial. Not to mention Sara's ID, which I'm sure will be a positive one, and his prints all over the knife."

"It's _his_ knife though," Brass pointed out. "So of course his prints are on them. His wife's prints are on them, hell his seven-year-old son's prints are on them. And lets not count out chickens, Sara might not peg Samson as her attacker."

"His bite marks were on her _shoulder_," Catherine hissed.

"And what about Greg?" Brass added. "I don't know, Samson just didn't have enough time to drop him off at the strip and come back, and why the hell would he anyway?"

"OK, so he didn't take Greg," Catherine said. "He might have an accomplice. A mistress, maybe, maybe even the one pulling his strings. Greg ran into her at the crime scene and she panicked while Samson attacked Sara, who found _him_ in the basement."

"It's a sound theory," Brass said, "if we had any evidence that this was a two person job. There's no foreign DNA or prints at the scene. They all belong to the Samson family."

"Maybe the accomplice is smarter than Samson," Catherine suggested.

"There's a huge piece of this puzzle that we're missing," Brass said.

"Nick said Grissom called," Catherine said. "He's found Greg and is bringing him in as we speak."

"Good," Brass said. "Maybe Greg can give us something to go on. A second suspect, for example."

"By the way Grissom sounded on the phone," Catherine said. "I doubt Greg will be any help at all."

* * *

Though he had been fine on his way back to the station, Greg felt disoriented and nauseous as Grissom walked with him down the hall of the CSI lab. All of a sudden, he'd rather have been just about anywhere else. He stumbled and grabbed Grissom's arm for support. 

"You OK, Greg?" Grissom asked for the seventh time. He was ashen and shaken up, but there was something behind his eyes that lied to him.

"I'll be OK in an hour or two." Somehow, Greg knew it wasn't a lie. "Can I get my phone back?"

"Sure…" Grissom said. "I asked Warrick to get it out for you. There were no alien prints on it."

"And then can I see Sara?" Greg asked anxiously.

"After you talk to Brass," Grissom reminded him.

"I've got nothing to say to Brass…" Greg muttered. "Hell, I had barely anything to say to _you_. Can't you tell him?"

"You know that you have to do that," Grissom replied.

Greg sighed. "Fine, I'll talk, but you know I know as much as you guys do. I was at the house, and then I wasn't, and all of a sudden three hours had passed. What time is it?"

" 3:00," Grissom replied. "You could have been drugged. We'll need to take a blood sample."

"_No!_" Greg said, pulling away from Grissom.

They stopped walking. Grissom looked at him quizzically. "Greg…?"

Greg closed his eyes and calmed down. "I'm sorry," he said. "I just don't want any needles sticking into me."

"Greg," Grissom began slowly, "you know this is for your own good."

"I just don't _want_ to, alright?" Greg snapped.

"See, that right there tells me we need to do it," Grissom said forcefully.

"Then get a fucking _warrant_!" Greg yelled. His demeanor changed suddenly and he looked scared. "I… wow, Grissom, I'm sorry. I don't know why I said that. Sure. Sure, you can take my blood, I don't care."

Greg tried to shrug off his outburst like it wasn't unusual but Grissom knew better. Whatever had happened to Greg in those three hours had changed something in him and Grissom was going to find out what it was if it was the last thing he did.

"Greg," Warrick said with a grin as he saw him at the end of the hall. He jogged over to the two of them. "Hey. I got your phone."

"Thanks," Greg said with a weak smile as he took it. "Can I see Sara now?"

"Brass," Grissom said firmly.

"I don't want to talk to Brass," Greg said. "I want to see Sara."

"You could really help Brass out," Warrick said. "Not to mention the rest of us. We really want to catch the bastard that did this to you."

Greg was frustrated. "I don't… I mean, I can't… I don't _know_ anything! I don't have anything to _say_!"

Warrick was confused. "You wanna at least look at the suspect—"

"I don't want to look at _anyone_, alright?" Greg interrupted. Warrick was stunned into silence. Greg calmed down. "The only person I want to see is Sara. Would you take me to her please?"

Grissom was quiet for a long time as both Greg and Warrick looked at him expectantly. All of a sudden, Grissom lashed out and grabbed Greg by the arm and began to drag him down the hall.

"What the _fuck_ Grissom?!" Greg screamed.

"Grissom?" Warrick said the name without purpose.

"You're talking to Brass," Grissom insisted as Greg continued to fight against his grip. "And we're getting that blood sample _now_."

* * *

They surprised Catherine with their entrance as Greg was still struggling against Grissom's grip and screaming. 

"Grissom!" Catherine cried out, reproachfully. "Let _go_ of him!"

Grissom through Greg into the room and closed the door behind him. His gaze was ice cold. "When Brass is done with Samson, he's talking to you," Grissom said flatly.

Greg looked up at him furiously. "You can't tell me what to do," he spat like a feral dog.

"You're not yourself," Grissom replied.

A twisted sneer curled Greg's lips as he slowly rose to his feet. "Oh, I'm feeling more myself than I ever have before."

"Greg, calm down," Catherine said. "Grissom, what's this about?"

"Don't try talking to him, Catherine," Grissom said, his eyes never leaving Greg. "He's sick."

"Sick?" Catherine said. "What kind of sick?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, Grissom," Greg said calmly.

Grissom knocked on the door to the interrogation room. Soon enough, Brass came out.

"What's this about?" Brass asked, then he saw Greg. "Ah."

Greg and Grissom seemed to be having some sort of staring match. "Jim," Grissom said. "Greg has something he wants to talk to you about."

Slowly, Greg's eyes still on Grissom, he obediently walked over to Brass. He was right in front of him before his tore his gaze away from Grissom and looked at Brass. "Grissom thinks I'm hiding something," he said with a goofy smile. "You don't think that, do you Jimmy?"

Brass's eyes narrowed. "Come in here, Greg."

"I'm not a suspect," Greg said. "I don't want to be interrogated."

"I just want to talk to you."

"So talk here," Greg said with a shrug. "What's the difference?"

Brass nodded. "You're right. What's the difference."

It was Grissom who asked the first question "Where have you been, Greg?"

Greg closed his eyes and breathed a big sigh. His shoulders seemed to slump and his smile disappeared. "Grissom, I'm really tired… can I go to sleep?"

"Please answer the question, Greg." Grissom said.

Greg looked at him a moment, confused. "Uh, could you repeat it please?"

"Where have you been?" Grissom said.

"I told you," Greg said. "I have no idea. I was at the scene, and then I as at the flamingo. End of story."

"Why were you being so hostile just now?" Grissom asked.

Greg looked frustrated. "I wasn't being hostile," he said. "I'm… I'm just scared, alright? I'm sorry."

Catherine gave him a warm smile and rubbed Greg's shoulder. "It's OK, Greg. You're OK now."

Greg returned the smile. "Thanks, Catherine," he said. He looked at Brass. "Anything else? I want to help you guys. I really do."

Brass looked at Grissom. "Do you remember anything at all?"

"I remember calling Sara on the pay phone," Greg replied. "That's the extent of my memory. And…" he glanced fleetingly at Grissom before reaching into his back pocket. He handed Brass the wad of bills. "This."

"Where'd you get this?" Brass asked.

"It was in my pocket when I… woke up." Greg used the term reluctantly.

"You won this at the Flamingo?" Brass asked.

"Somebody did," Greg replied.

"Let's check up on that," Brass said to Grissom, who nodded.

"I'll do it," Catherine said, taking the money.

"Take Sofia with you," Brass suggested.

Greg turned to Grissom anxiously. "Can I see Sara now?"

"We'll stop off by the lab," said Grissom, "get a blood sample."

"And _then_ can I see Sara?" Greg asked.

Grissom hesitated, but only for a moment. "Of course." 


	4. Risks

_**Author's Note:**_ Yes, the title of this story does give away the underlying theme, I know. That could explain Samson's behavior, but Greg's? I should say now, lest I forget later, that a third genre to this tale is science-fiction. In case one hasn't guessed that already. Also, I just wrote my favorite chapter yesterday. I'm beginning to get really excited about where this is going. I'll identify my favorite chapter when it's posted.

* * *

Catherine and Sofia walked through the main entrance to the Flamingo and looked around. Though they all had different themes, all casinos ended up looking the same to Catherine. She never liked them. She blamed Sam Braun for that.

A suave looking man wearing a tux approached them. "You are the police who called earlier, I presume?"

"What gave us away?" Sofia asked.

The man smiled and extended his hand. "I always keep track of beautiful ladies entering the Flamingo. My name is Richard King, I own this casino. Now what is this about?"

Sofia shook his hand, but Catherine didn't bother. "Mr. King, are you missing any money tonight?"

"I assure you if I was," Richard said, "It would be I who contacted you, not the other way around. We haven't had any trouble in here all night, actually."

"That's good to hear," Sofia said. "You're famous for being very diligent in tracking where your money goes. Do you keep track of all your transactions?"

"Anything more than a thousand bucks worth of chips we keep a record of," said Richard.

Catherine pulled out the wad of money. "Would you record a transaction of this amount?"

Richard laughed and folded his arms. "Well that sure looks like more than a thousand dollars. How long was the gambler in here, all day?"

"Three hours," Catherine replied. "Or less."

Richard stopped laughing. "That much money in three hours? That guy's one lucky son of a bitch."

Richard struck Catherine as the kind of man who didn't believe in luck. "Can you check your logs for an amount of money of about five thousand dollars exchanged in the past three hours?"

"Of course," said Richard. He muttered something to his guard, who turned around and took out his cell phone. "In the meantime, can I get you fine ladies a drink?"

"No thank you," Sofia answered quickly. "Just the information."

"Suit yourself," said Richard. "I myself am curious to know who this big risk-taker is."

"A win like that didn't strike your attention?" Sofia asked.

"I count on my dealers to alert me of suspicious behavior at the tables," said Richard. "And my security cameras."

The guard turned around and whispered something in Richard's ear. Richard nodded. "Two guys won big in the past two hours, actually. Your winners' names are Miles Frankin and Greg Sanders," he said.

"Dammit," Catherine muttered. She turned to Sofia. "You think he used Greg's name?"

"No," Richard answered before Sofia could speak. "Impossible. We require a legitimate name and photo ID, and this guy checked out."

Sofia frowned. "Could we take a look at those security cameras?"

"You're welcome to," said Richard. "I'll take you to them."

* * *

There was a knock at the door and Sara opened her eyes. She hadn't been sleeping, just trying to will her body to heal so she could get up and do her job. She smiled at her visitors. 

"Hey!" she said. "Grissom, Greg."

There was something strange between them, a tension Sara couldn't place, but she was glad to see both of them. Greg was grinning at her, looking ecstatic, if a little ashen.

"Sara…" he breathed the name like a sigh of relief. "Oh _man_ it's good to see you again."

"Ditto, kiddo," Sara replied. "Come here, I want to make sure it's really you."

He skipped on forward happily and sat in the vacant chair by her bed.

"Well," Sara said. "You look pretty good. Nothing seems to have happened to you, at least not physically. Are you alright?"

"Stellar, now that I see you and that you're OK," Greg replied in a whisper.

Sara blushed a little. She looked over at Grissom, who was still standing in the doorway. "Hey you, lurking like a shadow in the hall, why don't you come in?"

"I'm fine from over here," Grissom answered.

Sara rolled her eyes. "He's always like this," she told Greg.

Greg nodded, and then started laughing. "Aw, man, Sara— it's just so good to see you again."

Sara was flattered, but a little unnerved. "Yeah…" she said. "But I didn't go anywhere, you did."

"I know," Greg said. "I know, and I— well, when Grissom said someone hurt you, I just…"

Sara nodded with a blank smile. "Yeah," she said. "Thanks." She looked over at Grissom again. "Can I see Samson now?"

"You can't walk yet," Grissom said.

"I bet I can surprise you," Sara said with a wink.

"Don't try, Sara," Grissom said, shaking his head. "Please."

"Greg, step aside," Sara whispered as she slowly sat up in her bed. She winced a little bit but was more careful this time as she moved her legs to the side and slowly put weight on her feet. She wobbled a little, and her hand flew subconsciously to her stomach, but she stood on her own two feet. She held out her scarred and battered arms. "Ta da!"

This display had prompted Grissom to enter the room with a deliberate stride as he took her carefully by the shoulders and looked her in the eye. He looked like a frustrated father, whose daughter had snuck into the kitchen at midnight for a snack. "Please, Sara, lay down, you need rest; you can ID Samson later."

She pulled away from his grip. "I can do it _now_," she said. "I can walk, can't I?"

"You're doped up on pain killers," Grissom said. "You couldn't tell even if you were in pain."

"I am _not_," Sara snapped. "I'm just tougher than you take me for."

Grissom bit his lip. "Your stomach was burrowed into, you have a huge piece of flesh missing from your shoulder, you shouldn't be walking around."

"Where's that doctor," Sara said, moving past Grissom and to the door as she looked down the hall. "He'll tell you I'm ready to go."

"He won't say it just because you want him too," said Grissom.

"Oh, of course he will," Sara said dismissively. "I promised him I'd sleep with him if he did."

"You _what_?!" Greg and Grissom said together.

Sara rolled her eyes. "Oh come on, boys, it was a joke. Ah, there he is, Dr. Scott!"

He entered the room carrying a clip board and smiled at Sara.

"Ah, Ms. Sidle, you're up and about."

"I am," said Sara, cheerily.

"She needs more rest," Grissom insisted.

"Ms. Sidle's injuries were not incredibly extensive," said Dr. Scott thoughtfully as he pulled her hospital gown and the bandages wrapped around her shoulder back. "Your shoulder wound seems to be healing nicely. If you're leaving, though, I insist you wear a sling so as not to pull the stitches." He put the bandage back and looked up at her.

"Her stomach," Grissom interjected. "It was torn apart."

Greg made a face. "Sara, maybe Grissom's right…"

"Not you too," Sara said to Greg. She addressed the doctor. "There are things I have to do."

The doctor nodded. "We've done all we can here, Mr. Grissom," he said. "Her injuries aren't life threatening, we can't keep her here against her will. The rest is up to Sara here. You promise to get some rest?"

"As soon as I nail the bastard that did this," Sara replied.

"Leave that to us, please, Sara," Grissom replied.

"Fine," Sara said. "Just let me look at him."

"And then you'll go home?" Grissom asked.

Sara sighed. "Cross my heart."

"Get your clothes," Grissom said. "Greg and I will wait for you outside."

"Fantastic," Sara said with a smile.

* * *

Catherine and Sofia didn't have to look long to find who they were looking for. At around 11:30, he walked through the door. And though both of them recognized his face, neither of them recognized his attitude. 

Through the security cameras they watched his entire progress. His big wins at the poker table. His philandering with multiple women. What struck Catherine most was the sly wink he tossed the cameras, like he knew they would be reviewing them.

"Son of a bitch…" she muttered, her eyes wide.

"Who's that girl he's with?" Sofia asked. "The brunette."

"Huh," said Richard King, standing behind them. "That's Amber Edison. Her dad's a big spender. Loves this place so much, she has a permanent room upstairs."

"Can we talk to her please?" Catherine said.

"At this hour?" Richard said. "If she's not out there, then she's asleep."

"Now," Catherine insisted.

He led them up to the hotel room and they knocked on the door. She answered in a silk nightgown. She frowned at the sight of Richard. "Richard? What's going on?"

Sofia and Catherine flashed their badges. "I'm Detective Sofia Curtis, this is Catherine Willows from the crime lab, we just want to ask you a few questions ma'am."

She blinked and stumbled. "Uh… yeah, sure."

"Do you remember Greg Sanders?" Catherine asked.

"I've never heard that name before," she replied. Catherine showed her a photo and she smiled. "Oh, Andrew."

"Who?" Sofia said.

"Andrew," said Amber. She giggled. "He liked my hair."

"Cute," Catherine said, not amused.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I'm a little drunk. Uh… Yeah, he and I had a fun time tonight."

"What did he say to you?" Sofia asked.

She frowned trying to remember. "Not much, really. He'd just won big money and my attention and he said he was out looking for a good time and so was I. We talked about stupid things, mostly me and my life. We drank a lot." She grinned wickedly. "Fooled around. You know. Guy like that? Not exactly a gentleman. That's the appeal though, isn't it?"

Catherine had gone from confused to furious. She couldn't talk to this girl anymore and turned on her heal.

"Catherine!" Sofia called after her.

"I'll be in the car," Catherine replied, stalking off down the hall.

Sofia sighed and turned back to the girl. "Is that all, ma'am?"

"Yeah, I think so. He _really_ liked my hair." She started laughing again. "Talked about the irony with my name and everything. Couldn't stop stroking it."

"Thank you," said Sofia.

"Don't you want to know about the sex?" Amber asked.

Sofia didn't know what to say. "No, ma'am, that's OK."

"It was _wild_," Amber said wistfully. "Wow, he was aggressive. It almost _hurt_, but in that good way—"

"OK!" Sofia said abruptly. "Thank you, ma'am."

"Thank you for your time, Ms. Edison," Richard said and she closed the door.

* * *

Sara folded her arms and bit her lip as she looked at the lineup, her brow furrowed in concentration. 

"Take your time," Brass said.

She had watched witnesses do this so many times, his words irked her. Of course she would take her time. She wanted to make sure she correctly IDed her attacker. There was only one single problem that she was afraid to admit to. She didn't recognize any of them.

She took a deep breath. Was she sure? One of them was Matthew Samson, she knew that, but if that was true, then Matthew Samson hadn't been the one who attacked her. Unless her mind was playing tricks on her. Eye-witness identifications weren't always reliable. In the heat of the moment, the victim could see anything she wants, or at least remember it anyway she wants. The problem with surviving victims is that they think the face of their attacker will be emblazoned on their mind forever, when the truth is little things can still influence their memory. Had Sara remembered it wrong?

No, she told herself, she hadn't. The man who mauled her had blue eyes. Bright blue. She would never forget the way they caught the light. The eyes of these men were all varying shades of brown and hazel. Not blue.

"He's not here," she said, surprising herself with her words.

Grissom moved towards her and put a hand on her good shoulder. "Are you sure?"

Sara slowly nodded. "Yes."

Grissom and Brass exchanged looks. Brass sighed. "Well, Sara, thank you for your time."

"My pleasure…" Sara said. She moved to leave, but Grissom stopped her.

"Look again, Sara," he said.

"Grissom," Sara said, "don't try to influence the witness."

"But maybe you—"

"She's right, Gil," said Brass. "If she doesn't recognize anyone, you shouldn't push her."

Grissom sighed and nodded. "You're right, I'm sorry," he said.

Brass spoke into the microphone. "Thank you for your time."

"I'm going home now," she said, sounding a little confused.

"You're not driving," Grissom said.

"With this arm?" Sara said. "Grissom, I said I'm tough, not stupid. Greg offered to drive me home."

Grissom hesitated. "Sara, I don't think that's a good idea."

"Why?" Sara asked. "You don't trust Greg now?"

Grissom opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again. "Alright. Go get some rest."

"Will do," Sara said with a smile. "Do me a favor and stop worrying so much."

She left and Grissom was left alone with Brass. "So Jim," said Grissom. "What are we going to do?"

"So Sara couldn't identify Matthew Samson as the guy that attacked her." Brass shrugged. "We still have his teeth marks on her skin, a faulty alibi, a motive…"

"What motive?" Grissom asked. "The Samsons were the perfect family according to everyone we spoke too."

"Just because they seemed perfect on the outside doesn't mean it was the same on the inside," said Brass.

"Let's look into that then," Grissom said. "Katerina Samson was an attorney. Start there. Maybe she was having an affair at work while stay-at-home-dad picked up the kids from school."

"Good idea," said Brass and he left.

Grissom sighed and closed his eyes before he, too, left the room. He ran into Nick in the hall.

"Nick," he said. "You're back."

"Yeah," said Nick. "The van was a bust. Not a sign that Greg was there. But I checked the backyard. There was vomit. I just got the results. Mia tentatively identified Greg's DNA. But the pepperoni pizza in it tells me for sure. We shared one before our shift."

"Good," said Grissom. "At least we know that something made him ill at the scene."

"You don't think it was the gore, do you?" Nick asked skeptically.

Grissom frowned. "He's seen scenes bloodier than that by now, but he did seem distraught by the children's deaths."

"Can't say I blame him," Nick said. "_I_ was bothered by that. I've never seen kids so brutally mutilated. Also, I just talked to Warrick. Our killer had a lot to say. Did you hear there was a message on the vic too?"

"Warrick failed to mention that last I saw him," Grissom said, taking the photos Nick handed him. "'Blame her.' Well, it certainly fits with the phrase you found on the wall."

"No kidding," said Nick. "But what does it mean?"

"Why don't we ask Matthew Samson if he knows?" Grissom suggested.

His phone began to ring. Grissom answered it. "Hello, Catherine."

"Grissom!" Catherine said. "Where's Greg? I want to kill that son of a bitch."

"Slow down," said Grissom. "What happened?"

"He really did leave the scene on his own," Catherine said. "Hopped a cab to the Flamingo on the next street over. My guess is he did it when the rest of us were too preoccupied with saving Sara to—"

"Slow down," Grissom repeated. "And relax. Listen, Greg's been acting strange, but he would _never_ leave a scene, _especially_ if someone was in trouble."

"Well we have him on camera," Catherine replied. "And he was with a girl. Amber Edison. Apparently, the sex was great."

"You have that on camera too?" Grissom asked.

"Funny," said Catherine. "Where is he?"

"He's driving…" Grissom cut himself off suddenly. He looked at Nick. "Nick, go to the parking lot now. Find Greg's car. If they haven't left yet, bring them both in. If they have, call Sara and tell her to come back as fast as possible." Nick nodded and took off.

"Grissom?" Catherine asked. "What's going on?"

Grissom swallowed. "Greg is driving Sara home."


	5. Mr Seek

_**Author's Note:**_ Just a few points. First: YES this is a Sandle, I promise to actually include some (lots) romantic scenes, once I get this junk out of the way-- this is not an ANTI-romance, regardless of how it may seem. Second: Let me reiterate that this is science-fiction. Third: I am actually not a biology major, I just did IB biology and took a few courses in it, so while versed, I am not well-versed, and there will be errors. No disease described (in detail) in this chapter (with the exception of DID, though even its existence is debated) is a real disease that could come kill you in your sleep. So don't freak out. Fourth: If you don't like the heavy description in this chapter, please feel free to skip over it. Fifth: Enjoy the chapter.

* * *

Sara leaned her head against the window as she watched the buildings flash by. She was disheartened by what happened with the lineup. She was only too happy to obey Grissom's orders and go home to sleep. She remembered those blue eyes, though, a little too vividly. And none of those eyes were the same. The fact that she couldn't identify any of those men as her attacker drained all the strength she had left. She sighed. 

"You alright?" Greg asked.

"I will be," Sara replied. "I didn't realize how tired I was."

"Yeah, well you should relax," Greg said. "Go to sleep. You're in good hands."

Sara closed her eyes and prepared to do just that when her phone began to vibrate against her thigh. Rolling her eyes, she answered.

"This better be important," she said through her fatigue.

"Sara," came Nick's voice urgently. "Get out of the car."

Sara yawned. "Why?"

"Something's wrong with Greg," Nick said.

Sara lazily glanced over at her driver. "He looks fine to me."

"Ask him to come back. Grissom wants a word with him."

"Can't it wait?" Sara whined. "I'm exhausted." She looked over at Greg. "Don't you think it's a little hot in here?"

Beads of sweat ran down Greg's face. "I'm freezing, actually," he replied.

"It can't wait," Nick insisted. "Greg wasn't kidnapped. He left the scene of his own accord."

"That's impossible," Sara muttered, falling asleep on the phone. "Greg would never do that."

"Sara," Nick said firmly. "I know you're tired, but you might be in trouble."

"Nick, I want to go home," Sara said. "_Grissom_ wanted me to go home. Now he wants me to come back?"

"It's not you who's the problem," Nick said. "Please, Sara, just ask."

"OK," Sara said. "Who am I to stand in Grissom's way?"

"What's the problem?" Greg asked as they pulled up to a stop light.

"Nick wants you to turn around," Sara said. "I think you have some explaining to do."

"Aw, Sara," said Greg with a laugh. "You know I can't do that."

Sara shrugged half-heartedly. "Eh, I know, but it's a direct order. You know how it is, boss says jump…"

"No," said Greg casually. "I mean I can't go back."

"Greg, don't be difficult," Sara said. "I think you're already treading on thin ice with Grissom."

"I know," said Greg. "I think this is a good way of telling him I quit."

Sara woke up for the first time in the conversation. "Nick?" she said, nervously. "Why did Greg leave the scene?"

"Hang up the phone, Sara," Greg said, calmly.

"He went to the Flamingo," Nick said. "Won five thousand dollars. Scored with a chick, then called you pretending he had no clue what was going on."

"I said hang up the _phone_, Sara," Greg said, his voice now infused with some unspoken threat.

Sara was confused. "Why would he do that?"

She screamed and dropped the phone as a bullet streaked right in front of her face and made its way through the passenger window. It almost blew out her eardrums. "Jesus Christ, Greg what the hell is wrong with you? You could have killed me!"

Greg put the gun away and hit the gas as the light turned green. "I told you to hang up the phone."

"What's gotten into you?" Sara asked, looking for the phone on the floor.

Greg laughed. "What's gotten into me?" he said. "What's gotten _into _me?!" He aimed his gun at Sara without even looking away from the road. "Don't touch the phone, Sara."

Sara froze as she slowly sat up in her seat and stared at Greg. "Greg…" she said carefully. "You're upset."

"Upset?" Greg laughed again. "Damn right I'm _upset_. Oh, but you're incorrect to assume there's something wrong with me."

"There _is_ something wrong with you," Sara hissed. "Leaving a crime scene to go _gambling_? Are you _serious_?"

"Actually," said Greg. "Yeah. It was the best time I've had in _ages_. I gotta tell you, though, Sara, that girl I'm sure Nick told you about, she doesn't compare to you. But of course, I could never even get _close_ to you, could I? Out of my league, aren't you?"

"What are you talking about," Sara said, fumbling with the door.

"I wouldn't suggest opening that door," Greg said. "In case you didn't notice, I just pulled onto the freeway. We're going sixty-five with a bunch of other cars, some going even faster. You won't last two seconds once you hit that pavement."

Sara stopped and swallowed. "Greg, you're scaring me."

"Aw," said Greg, grinning madly. "I'm sorry, I didn't want to scare you. Kinda wish you didn't let me put your stuff in the trunk now, don't you? Sara Sidle, high-powered CSI, in civilian clothes and absolutely weaponless. You must feel pretty vulnerable right now."

"You won't hurt me," Sara said, sounding sure of herself but not quite certain it was true in his state.

Greg nodded slowly. "You're right, babe," he said. "I won't hurt you. Now, do me a favor, would you? Pick up the phone and throw it out the window."

Sara groaned inwardly as she reached for the phone. That was the trouble with Greg. He was a CSI. He knew exactly how they could be tracked.

"I said toss it," Greg replied when Sara held onto the phone too long. Sara closed her eyes as Greg rolled down the window electronically and she threw the phone on the road.

"I'm guessing your phone is off," Sara said, her voice shaking only slightly.

"See, Sara, that's what I love about you," Greg said. "Always so _smart_."

"Where are we going?" Sara asked.

"Somewhere," Greg answered. "I haven't quite decided yet." He bounced, excitedly. "Hey, where do you wanna go? You wanna go to California? Mexico?"

"I _want_ to go home," Sara snapped. "Greg, I don't know what's up with you, but I don't like it."

Greg's demeanor changed again to be very apologetic and meek. "I'm really sorry you're angry, Sara, I hate it when you're—" He stopped and turned to her, flashing her a very sinister grin. "Oh, is that what you wanted to hear?" He tossed his head back and laughed. "Yeah. Of course it was. It's what I always say when you get pissed off. You are such a bitch to me, you know that? All high-and-mighty, even now, when I got you under my thumb, you're still putting up a fight. I will never be good enough for you, Sara, will I? No matter what I do, it doesn't matter to you. I'm the scum between your toes. You could care less what happens to me, and you think I don't know that. Nah. All of them. _All_ of them, even Nick, though he does a good job of pretending, they put up with me because I'm _Greg_, someone to blame when shit goes wrong, well I'm not apologizing anymore and I'm not kissing any more ass. Fuck. That. No. I'm done with all the bull shit and the pretending to be more than I am. Because you know what gets me about all this Sara is that you're right. I don't deserve you. I will _never_ deserve _you_. I know that, I do, I really, really do, but…"

He paused in his angry rant only when he ran out of words. He pounded the horn of the car, letting out a loud honk before he exploded again. "Jesus Christ, Sara, you're like a fucking _angel_ or something, the way you get up inside his head like that, messing around in there, crossing his wires so he can't think straight. I only screw up when I'm thinking of you. I put you on a pedestal and you use me as a stepping stone— Jesus _Christ_, Sara! I know you're too good for me, but you make it worse every day by pushing me lower, taunting me, and you can't _do_ that to me, Sara, you just can't. He's bonkers for you, Sara, but I hate you like the hell spawn you are. You're a Cancer, Sara. I'm not taking it any more. I'm purging you from me."

Sara noted the change in pronouns in the middle of his speech and began to feel a little cold in the hot car herself. "Greg…?" she began carefully. "Just calm down and take me back to the station. We can work this out."

Greg sighed. "No, it's too late for that Sara."

Sara looked over at him and tried to reason with him. "It's not too late. Look, they know I'm with you. If anything happens, you know they'll come after you."

"Nah," said Greg. "They'll come after Greg, and I'll be long gone by then."

Sara was swallowed hard. All of a sudden, a horrible thought occurred to her and it slowly wrapped its icy fingers around her heart. "Who are you?"

Greg turned and smiled at her. "I'm Greg Sanders, Sara. Don't you recognize me?"

Sara's eyes did widen in recognition, but not of Greg. She recognized his eyes. They were a bright electric blue. "You're not Greg…" she said suddenly. "What have you done with him?"

"So clever up until this point," Greg said. "Damn. In truth, I was hoping you'd figure it out by now. Oh well."

"What's going on?" Sara asked. "What happened to Greg?"

"Greg woke up from a very long nap," he replied. "You never knew him before. You know him now."

"What?!"

"So… what do you think about a car crash on I-15?" Greg said casually, as though he was asking what she wanted for dinner. "Should be fun for our friends to investigate, wouldn't you say? I bet they'd have a party."

"You're going to crash this car?" Sara asked.

"It'll probably kill us both," Greg replied. "Or not. Honestly, I'm kinda hoping I survive. But if I don't, I'll be alright about it."

This new piece of information prompted Sara to do something very, very drastic.

"I love you, Greg."

Something in him clicked into place. He turned to look at her, but Sara wasn't paying any attention to him as she grabbed the wheel and veered right.

"Sara _no_!" Greg yelled, but it was too late. The car swerved and crashed through the barrier of the highway, and that was all Sara knew.

* * *

When the phone went dead, Nick ran inside immediately to find Grissom and tell him what had happened. He was with Warrick, looking at something on the computer. 

"Grissom!" Nick said, breathing a little harder from his recent jog. "They're gone, he's got her."

"What do you mean 'he's got her?'" Grissom said, the color draining from his face.

"Greg, something's wrong with Greg, you're right, Catherine's right, something here is _not_ right."

"Calm down, Nick," Grissom said, although even he felt the panic beginning to rise in his chest. "What happened on the phone?"

"Greg wouldn't turn around," Nick said. "He and Sara argued, and then there was a huge bang—maybe a gunshot, Sara said something about how Greg could have killed her. They talked some more after that, but it was muffled, I think Sara dropped her phone, and then there was nothing. It went dead. I did get one thing—Greg was turning onto the freeway, maybe I-15, it's the closest. Grissom, what's going on?"

"I'll tell you what's going on," said Warrick, who hadn't looked up upon Nick's entry. "Katerina Samson wasn't an attorney."

Grissom and Nick came around and looked at the computer. "What do you mean?" Nick asked.

"The firm she works at," said Warrick. "It doesn't exist. Do you know how many cases they've taken this year?"

"How many?"

"Twelve," said Warrick. "All of them clandestine, all of them under assumed names, and all of their bills absolutely outrageous, even for a law firm. Like, in the billions. Something trippy is going on over there."

"Can you find out anything else?" Grissom asked.

"They don't have a legal license," said Warrick. "That's the other thing that tipped me off…"

Catherine walked in at that moment, flipping her hair back. "Ah," she said. "There you boys are. What are we looking at?"

"Mrs. Samson's place of employment," Grissom replied, turning around. "Sara's in trouble."

"So's Brass," Catherine replied. "He needs you in with Samson. Now."

"What's going on?" Warrick asked. "All this is happening too fast."

"I think the pieces are beginning to fall together," said Grissom. "Nick—figure out what happened to Greg and Sara. Warrick, check up on this fake law firm. Catherine, come with me."

They all left and Warrick was alone with the computer. The firm's file listed no address, but there was a phone number.

"_Thank you for calling Bennett & Locke. If you would like to make a payment, please press one. If you would like to lodge a complaint, please press two. If you would like to leave a message, please press three. If you would like to check on a case, please press four._"

Warrick pressed four.

"_Thank you for choosing Bennett & Locke to take your case. Please enter your identification number and press pound. To visit the main menu, please press seven._"

Warrick sighed and pressed seven.

"_Thank you for calling Bennett & Locke. If you would like to make a—_"

Warrick pressed two.

"_If you have paid for our services, but have not received results, please press one. If you have paid for our services, but your bill appears to sill be outstanding, please press two. If you are dissatisfied with a service, please press three. For more assistance, please press four._"

Warrick pressed three.

"_Please enter your identification number and press—_"

Frustrated, Warrick pressed seven.

"_Thank you for calling—_"

Warrick pressed three. "_If you would like to leave a message for Samantha Utterson, please press five. If you would like to leave a message for Brandon Carter, please press six._"

"Brandon Carter…" Warrick said, the name sounding familiar. He pressed six.

"Hi, you've reached Brandon Carter, Attorney at Law. Please leave your name and number and I will get back to you as soon as I can."

Warrick all of a sudden recognized the voice. "Mr. Carter, this is Warrick Brown from the crime lab. I spoke to you earlier at your residence concerning the death of Mrs. Samson and her children? At the time, you neglected to mention that you weren't just her neighbor, you were her boss—"

"Hello?"

Warrick was momentarily surprised. "Mr. Carter, what are you doing at your office at 4:30 in the morning?"

"When you spoke with me earlier," said Carter, "I wanted to come into the office, clear up a few things before I broke the news to our crew."

"Yes, actually, that's why I'm calling," said Warrick. "If you're at your office, mind if I come over?"

"Actually, Mr. Brown, I'd rather you didn't," said Carter.

"I'd rather not do this over the phone if I can avoid it," said Warrick.

Carter sighed. "OK, why don't I come down there?"

"You're very accommodating, Mr. Carter," Warrick said.

"So I'm told," Carter said with another sigh.

* * *

As they walked briskly down the hall, Catherine had to ask. "What happened to Greg and Sara? Are they OK?" 

"I don't know," Grissom admitted. "But don't get too excited about killing him. I have a feeling he's already dead."

"What?!" Catherine exclaimed.

"Or dying," Grissom corrected himself. "I don't mean to be dramatic. But I took blood from his arm earlier this morning. There was a previous puncture wound on it, and it was recent. Also, Mia just gave me the results to the tox screen. There were unusually high levels of phenylcyclodine."

"PCP?!" Catherine exclaimed. "That doesn't make sense, that stuff isn't injected—"

"It's not," Grissom agreed. "But it wasn't the only drug found in his system."

"What?" Catherine said.

"She couldn't identify them all," Grissom said. "A 'cocktail of chemicals,' she called it. But she did run a DNA test."

"Why?" Catherine asked.

"I asked her to," Grissom replied simply. "His DNA is mutating."

"You're kidding. How ?"

"Splitting," Grissom said. "Adding guanines and thymines where there shouldn't be. Making him into a whole other person right down on the cellular level. Some viral agent is causing it, she thinks. My theory is the drugs weaken the immune system, put the brain in a ready state, and then the virus goes to work on the DNA."

Catherine stopped and Grissom walked a few more paces before he realized she wasn't next to him anymore. He stopped to and looked at her.

"You've got to be kidding me," Catherine said, her jaw nearly reaching the floor.

Grissom remained incredibly impassive. There was a crash in the interrogation room. Grissom glanced toward it, then to Catherine. "Didn't you say Brass was in trouble?"

"Grissom, mind-altering drugs is one thing, but Robert Louis—"

"We can talk about this later," Grissom said sharply. "Let's go."

The minute he entered the room he could tell why Catherine had summoned him. Brass stood at the window, watching Matthew as he went berserk, throwing chairs around and upending the table.

"Grissom," said Brass upon his entrance. "I'm pretty sure we've found our killer."

"It is Matthew Samson," Grissom said.

"Not quite," Brass replied. "A severe form of dissociative identity disorder."

"He's a completely other person," Grissom observed, fascinated.

"Almost," Brass half-agreed. "I'd say he's a completely other animal."

Grissom frowned. "What?"

Someone else stepped out of the shadows, which both Catherine and Grissom found eerie. "Mr. Grissom, I am Dr. Feder, I specialize in these matters."

"And what kind of matter is this, Doctor?" Grissom asked.

"A reversion into a primordial state," Dr. Feder said as he approached the window and watched Matthew Samson. He was on all fours, trying to rip the table apart with his hands, biting himself and scratching at the floor. "DID cases like this tend to be incredibly self-destructive. It probably started small at first. A sudden stint of spontaneous disregard for responsibility and the wellbeing of others. Lashing out at friends and family. A violent increase of the sex drive, which quickly elevates to more aggressive tendencies... All of this interspersed with episodes of complete lucidity and normality, such as that which you observed earlier. In Freudian terms, it is a complete obliteration of the super-ego, and a role-reversal between the id and ego, in that all of our repressed desires and emotions spill forth from us while the ego and a sense of what is normal is pushed lower into the unconscious. Meanwhile, the ego, or in this case the personality of Matthew Samson as we knew him previous to this episode, is suspended in a fugue state, completely unaware of the actions of the id."

"So instead of two separate personalities…" Grissom muttered, "it's one personality at war with itself."

"Exactly," Dr. Feder said. "There is no precise trigger for this case as the disease progresses. The id comes forward and then falls back when it finds it is convenient. But I've never seen a case this far along, or this intense…"

"What causes it?" Catherine asked.

"The same things that cause any disorder," Dr. Feder said with a shrug. "Traumatic pasts, difficult childhoods, abnormalities present from birth…"

"A virus?"

Dr. Feder frowned at Grissom. "I suppose it's possible," he said. "Though I know of no virus that could induce such a state, at least not permanently."

"We never took his blood," Grissom said. "We didn't need it. We had a swab of his saliva, and his prints, and his teeth… we don't have his blood."

"We don't need to," Catherine said. "We have Greg's."

"Greg?" Brass said suddenly. "What about Greg?"

"He's infected," Grissom said simply.

"With _what_?" Brass asked.

"With this disease. I have a feeling it was manufactured in a lab somewhere," Grissom replied. "We found large amounts of PCP in his blood, plus a dozen other chemicals Mia is still trying to identify for us."

"A dissociative psychedelic," Dr. Feder said, nodding. "Yes, that would account for a temporary suspension of reality, but not for any permanent damage."

"It's completely altering his DNA," Grissom said.

"That's impossible," Dr. Feder said. "A drug can't do that."

"It isn't just the drugs…" Grissom said. "It's a virus. The drugs just provide the opportunity for it to spread faster."

"Wasn't Sara with Greg?!" Brass said, sounding nervous.

A knot formed in Grissom's throat but he swallowed it. "She is."

"Then what the hell are we doing here?" Brass asked.

"You wanted me here," Grissom replied calmly. "Nick is on it."

"Grissom…" Catherine said, slowly shaking her head. "How are we going to fix this one."

Grissom watched Samson as he bit hard into his arm, drawing enough blood to use as ink and he began to write on the walls. At first, it was just bloody handprints, smearing red across everything he saw, but soon, his finger began to draw out words.

TO BLAME TO BLAME TO BLAME  
I KILLED KATERINA SAMSON  
I ATTACKED THE GIRL  
I ATTACKED BLONDE TIPS  
ASK ME WHY  
MATTHEW SAMSON IS NOT TO BLAME

Grissom noticed something different about Matthew Samson's eyes. He resolved to look more closely at the virus. "If he be Mr. Hyde…" he said slowly. "Then I shall be Mr. Seek." 


	6. Gray

_**Author's Notes:**_ Thank you for your reviews, you're all so awesome. If anyone here has read _The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde_ and not just heard of it should enjoy a few little nods to it which will come later. Points to whoever recognizes them!

* * *

Nick found himself jogging back into the parking lot and jumped into his car as fast as he could. He took off in the direction he'd seen Greg's car go in earlier, having nothing else to go on until his phone began to ring. 

"Hello," he said absently into the phone as he concentrated on the road.

"Car crash on I-15," came Ecklie's voice. "I need you to check it out."

"I'm busy right now," Nick replied.

"So is everyone else," Eckile said harshly. "All working on the Samson case, just do it."

Nick ground his teeth. He was just turning onto the interstate. "Good bye, Ecklie."

"Don't hang up on me—"

Nick hung up his phone, fully aware that he could have just gotten himself fired but not willing to think about it at the moment. He needed to get off the highway before he ran into the traffic caused by the crash, even at five o'clock in the morning.

It was too late. Cars were already backed up. "Shit," Nick cursed as he hit his wheel with his hands. He leapt out of the car and wove between the cars until he saw the crash. His heart stopped. It looked like Greg's car, slammed straight into a tree in a ditch off the road. Nick broke into a run and as he got closer, he saw cops by the passenger door.

"What the hell is this?!" Nick yelled.

One of the officers looked up at him. "Oh, you're CSI," he said, noting the vest. "Thought you were another pissed off driver. Two victims, male and—"

"Female," Nick interrupted. "Yeah, I know, I know this car, are they OK?"

"They're both unconscious," said the officer. "The girl, she's breathing fine, but the driver is going into convulsions."

Nick muttered a few other profanities before running over to the driver's side and pushing the cop out of the way.

It was him. Greg was sweating and shaking, his head bleeding. Nick looked at his window and saw it had been smashed, with traces of blood. Greg had to have hit his head on it pretty hard.

"Where are the paramedics?" he demanded.

As if in reply, an ambulance pulled up and they started jumping out. Nick backed away from his scene and put his hands over his mouth, breathing deeply. He took out his cell phone and dialed.

"Hey, Ecklie? Yeah, turns out the car crash was on my way after all. Listen, tell Grissom something bad has happened…"

* * *

Grissom looked at the virus on the monitor connected to the electron microscope and compared its DNA to the DNA it was altering. He bit his lip and went over to change the slides. 

"What's the point of this?" Hodges asked, surprising Grissom and the slide slipped.

"Thank you for that, Hodges," Grissom said, closing his eyes.

"Honestly, though," Hodges said. "I've looked at that myself you know. Mia asked for my… expert opinion."

"I'm sure she did," Grissom mumbled, repositioning the slide. "And you were just too happy to give it."

"If you're trying to identify the virus, give up," Hodges said. "It's unlike anything Mia and I have ever seen before, so I doubt you would recognize it. Protein layer is completely alien, and the way it attacks the cells—"

"Actually, I was looking at its DNA," Grissom interrupted. He used the pointer on the microscope to center it on a specific point. "It's more tightly coiled then human DNA, and its amino acids dissolve when inside the cytoplasm of its host cell, which explains where the mutated human DNA gets its extra information… Check this out."

He moved to another table. "On one of these chromosome maps, you'll see the allele for a heterozygous dark-eyed individual. In the second, you'll see that same DNA after it has been altered by the virus."

Hodges frowned. "That's not right," he said. "Where's the marker?"

"Absent," said Grissom. "The heterozygous dominant individual has just become a homozygous recessive individual."

"That doesn't make sense," said Hodges.

"The virus replaces the allele," Grissom explained. "It removes the dominant dark-eyed trait and replaces it with the recessive light-eyed trait."

"We knew the virus altered DNA," Hodges said.

"But we didn't know it would have this kind of a side effect," Grissom said.

"You're right," Hodges said, catching on. "Normally when DNA is altered, the cell can no longer reproduce it properly, like with the oncogene. It promotes tumor growth; it doesn't result in an actual success."

"But this mutation is so seamless," Grissom said, "that when cells in the eyes read this new information, they copy it like they'd copied the old information all their lives." He frowned at Hodges. "When the virus is at its peak of activity, it can actually alter the appearance of the individual."

"What's that mean for Greg?" Hodges asked.

Grissom's heart beat loudly in his chest. "That he is literally becoming two different people."

"Grissom!"

He looked up at his name. "Conrad," he said, respectfully.

"Nick Stokes is investigating a car crash," said Ecklie. "Thought you might be interested in its victims."

* * *

Sofia saw him waiting anxiously in the waiting room. "Can I help you?" 

"Yes," he said, rising to meet her. "I'm here to talk to Warrick Brown? My name is Brandon Carter, he wanted to speak with me about Katerina Samson."

"Oh," said Sofia. "Yes…"

" Sofia," Warrick said as he entered. "Mr. Carter, thank you for coming down. Sofia, care to join us?"

"Info on the Samson case?" Sofia looked fleetingly over her shoulder, and then nodded. "Sure," she said. "This can wait."

They escorted him to a quieter room and sat down. "Mr. Carter, I've noticed a few incongruities with your law firm."

Carter nodded. "Yes, I was afraid of that. We're not doing anything illegal, if that's what you're wondering. If we were, I wouldn't have offered to come down here."

"So what exactly _are_ you doing?" Warrick asked.

"One thing I didn't fake is my law degree," Carter replied. "We're clandestine because some of the things we do just barely scrape the surface of being legal. Also, are clients like their confidentiality. I really am a lawyer, but my employees are scientists. Just like you."

"Just like me," Warrick said with a smile. "So tell me what your clients are like, Mr. Carter."

"Big companies and the like," said Carter. "We do the jobs no other research facility has the balls to do. Let's just leave it at that."

"What about Katerina Samson?" Sofia asked. "What was her part in all of this."

"Katy," Carter said, "was one of my scientists. A doctor in biochemical engineering."

"And you just happened to be neighbors?" Warrick said.

"If you think there's some sort of affair between us, you're wrong," Carter answered, sounding offended. "I was her boss, that's all. Hell, Samantha lives in that neighborhood too. She's my partner. All our employees live within a ten mile radius. It's an easy excuse to meet late at night without drawing the attention of the families. Katy would borrow a lawn mower from me and return it every time she wanted to run a few things by me."

"What was she working on?" Warrick asked.

"I'm afraid that's classified," Carter replied.

"More of your barely legal activities?" Sofia asked.

Carter flashed her a grin. "You could say that."

"Don't make me get a warrant, Mr. Carter," Warrick said, sounding tired. "Because I will, and I really don't care about your almost-legal research facility, or what happens to it after we find out it's a little less legal than you claim."

Carter closed his eyes. "She was working on a biological agent. Its purpose was meant to be used on assassins, soldiers, and the like. People who would need to leave their morals at the door, so to speak. The project is still in its infancy. So far it's killed every specimen it's been used on, which is not our intention."

"You want to turn folks into killers," Warrick said. "Not have them killed."

One corner of Carter's mouth began to rise up as he gave Warrick a disturbing half-smile. "We are all two different people in the same head, Mr. Brown. Everyday we walk the fine line of what we want to do versus what we should do. We'd all cross it if we thought we could get away with it. That's all this agent does. It lowers all our inhibitions, takes away our conscience and all we know is what we want, and we go after it with a vengeance. It destroys our own private mental restraints. There is no good and evil. The world is a mass of grays and black. There is no white. Just almost white."

"And where would your organization fall?" Warrick asked.

There was a knock on the door and Grissom entered, looking grim. "Warrick, Sofia," he said. "Can I talk to you?"

Carter's half-smile quickly turned into a full one. Warrick turned to Grissom, annoyed. "Grissom, I'm in the middle of—"

"I know," Grissom replied. "It's about Greg."

Warrick stood up. "What's going on?"

Grissom nodded at the door. "Sir, would you mind waiting a few minutes?"

"I got to be at work in two hours," Carter said.

"You'll get there," Grissom promised.

Something about Grissom's voice bothered Warrick. It was utterly emotionless, which wasn't completely unlike Grissom. But Warrick noticed that it wasn't just emotionless, it sounded completely dead.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"Greg and Sara were in a car accident," Grissom said. "Although I'm not so sure it was an accident."

"You think Greg did it on purpose?" Warrick said.

"Why would he do that?" Sofia asked.

"He's been infected," Grissom explained, "with some sort of biochemical virus."

"No shit," Warrick muttered, turning around.

"Where are you going?" Grissom asked.

"Finding out what the hell kind of trick this guy's trying to pull," Warrick replied.

When he entered the room again, he slammed the door. Sofia and Grissom entered quietly after him as he pounded his fists on the table.

"Whoa!" said Carter, leaning back in surprise.

"You say you're a lawyer?" Warrick asked.

"Yes," said Carter.

"Good, that means I don't have to tell you to get one."

"What's this about?" Carter asked. "I was cooperating, I don't want any trouble for Bennett & Locke."

Grissom stepped forward. "A CSI was infected with a virus of unknown origin. It causes a specific form of dissociative identity disorder, one in which we act on our most primal desires." Grissom replied.

Carter paled. "That's impossible. That agent is still in its experimental phase, it's not safe—"

"We have reason to believe that Matthew Samson is also infected," Grissom replied.

"Katy's husband? That's…" He trailed off. He then looked at Warrick. "OK. One of my doctors noticed that there were a few vials missing. But Katy said she'd used them on our 'lab rats.' I thought it was rather odd, because she used chimpanzees—you're not going to get PETA involved in this are you?"

"If Katy stole the virus, why did she give it to her husband?" Grissom asked.

"She was always anxious to test on human subjects," said Carter. "I was willing to give her the chimpanzees, but humans, that's a legal line I'm not ready to cross."

"She used her own husband as a guinea pig…" Warrick said, sounding disgusted.

"There could be more to it," Carter said. "The virus increases the sex drive. She might have seen that as a perk. Bennett & Locke isn't responsible for this, you can't charge us for anything."

"If Matthew Samson dies," Grissom said, his voice low and slow. "Or if Greg Sanders or Sara Sidle dies as a result of _your_ virus, you can bet damn well we can charge you, and you know it." His voice reminded Warrick of a dog uttering a low growl at the back of his throat as a warning to trespassers not to take one step out of line.

"Who are those people?" Carter demanded. "The virus didn't do anything to them."

"Greg Sanders," Grissom continued, in that same low tone, "is the infected CSI, and Sara Sidle was in the car with him as the virus made him crash it into a tree."

Carter groaned. "Jesus, Katy, what did you _do_?"

Grissom's phone rang. "Jim?" he said, answering the phone. He nodded and hung up. "I got to go. Matthew Samson is threatening to kill himself."

If possible, Brandon Carter went even paler.

* * *

"Catherine," Nick said as she arrived at the scene. 

Catherine took in the car. "Greg and Sara are at the hospital?"

"And we're here to do our job," Nick said with a sigh.

"How are they?" Catherine asked.

"It looks worse than it is," Nick said. He pointed inside the car. "Airbags deployed, for one. Greg banged his head against the window pretty bad, but Sara looked like she braced herself. She had some cuts and contusions around her arms like she put them up to cover her head."

"They could have both been killed…" Catherine said. "The virus did this?"

"Aw, Jesus," Nick said, putting his hand over his eyes as he walked away from the car. He kicked the dirt and let out a slew of obscenities.

"Nick?" Catherine called over to him. His back was to her as he was staring down at the highway. She saw him shaking his head. Armed with a warm smile, she approached him and rubbed his shoulder. "Nicky…"

He looked up at her with tired eyes. "It's been a long night," he said. "Sara's in the hospital for the second time tonight. Greg is infected with some virus straight out of a fucking… Robert Louis Stevenson… shit… and we don't know how to fix it."

Catherine didn't know what to say. She had all the same doubts Nick did. "You said the crash wasn't so bad."

"For Sara," Nick said. "She was smart. Greg was going into convulsions by the time I got here."

This news really made Catherine's heart sink. "Oh, Greg…" she said, regretting her annoyance with him earlier. "I shouldn't have leapt to conclusions so fast."

"I don't know why we're here," Nick said, frustrated, "and not at the hospital."

"It's like you said," Catherine said, looking over the car wreck. "We have to do our job."

"What's there to say?" Nick asked. "Greg was sick, he crashed the car."

"Intentionally?" Catherine said, softly.

"Possibly."

"And why?" Catherine added.

"I don't care," said Nick. "It's a car crash, plain and simple, what does it matter?"

"It matters to the insurance companies," Catherine replied. She looked at the car again. "I'll tell you what, Nicky. This doesn't look like a two person job. Why don't you go on over to the hospital and check up on Greg and Sara. I'll finish up here, tell Grissom what went down."

"Aw, Cath," Nick said, shaking his head. "Nah, I can't leave you here, not by yourself, Grissom would have my ass on a platter."

"I'm not by myself," Catherine told him, pointing to the surrounding cop cars. "You got about a couple dozen people here. I won't get mauled. I won't disappear." She hesitated and put a hand on his arm with a sympathetic smile. "And I won't be held hostage by a convict's crazy father. Relax. Everything will be OK."

Nick took her hand off his shoulder and held it a moment as he returned her smile. "Thanks, Catherine."

"Eh, it's what I'm here for," Catherine said with a shrug. "Now shoo. I expect a full report on how Sara and Greg are doing by the time I get there."

"Yes boss," Nick said with a wink, and with that, he left.

* * *

"I would have gone to get you," Brass said as Grissom, Warrick and Sofia entered, "but I had to make sure he didn't do anything." 

"He doesn't have a weapon," Sofia said. "How can he…"

"You didn't see him earlier," Grissom muttered.

"Look at his eyes…" Warrick said. "They're blue."

"That would be the virus," Grissom said. "Altering his alleles."

"It changes his eye color?" Warrick said skeptically.

"It bleaches his genes," Grissom corrected. "Blue is a recessive trait. Hodges and I figured it to be a side effect. The virus carries the extra gene in its DNA."

Grissom and Brass entered the room. Grissom addressed Matthew slowly. "Matthew? My name is Gil Grissom, we met at your house, remember?"

Matthew was shaking and drenched in sweat as he shook his head. "Dead. Dead. All of them, _all of them_, dead." He looked over at Grissom. "He told me everything, you know. He told me that they had to die. They were her spawn. Oh God, I didn't want to kill them. I loved my babies so much." He began to cry as he softly sang to himself. "We always hurt the ones we love. That's why she hurt me, isn't it? It wasn't my fault. It wasn't his fault. We're the same, he and I, we're the same. He tried to tell you. He tried to tell you it wasn't our fault. I loved her and I trusted her and she broke my heart. And I thought she was offering to cook dinner because she loved me."

"He's been talking like that for twenty minutes," Brass told him. "Don't even think he knows we're here anymore."

Grissom slowly approached Matthew. "Matthew? Do you hear me?"

"DON'T COME ANY CLOSER!"

The yell echoed throughout the halls. Sofia jumped. "This is creepy," she muttered to Warrick, who nodded in agreement.

Grissom, of course, froze in his tracks. "Alright," he said. "I won't move. Talk to me. How long was she drugging you?"

"Too long," said Matthew, shaking his head. "Far too long. At first, she was pleased. Very pleased. When she slept with him, she told him everything. He knew. He saw the poison. She showed him. When I woke up with her the next morning, she didn't like what she saw. She only loved the half of me she created. He was the only one who could control her. But I didn't know. He knew the difference, but I had no idea. I loved her anyways." For the first time, Matthew looked directly at Grissom. "Do you know what it's like, Mr. Grissom? To have half of you living your entire life in secrecy and then finally when you come out… You're forced into secrecy. He becomes everything. You become… nothing…"

"I'm sorry about what happened to you, Matthew," Grissom said. "I was wondering, could you tell me what happened to my friend, Greg Sanders?"

Matthew smiled and nodded. "Blonde tips," he said, knowingly. "He had been going for the girl, you know. The girl. He wanted his legacy to live on, you see. She was dead, our Katy was dead, but the girl was alive. She wasn't evil, like Katy, but she could be under the right persuasions. We found the guy instead. Blonde tips. He didn't mind. He wanted a friend."

"So you took one of Katy's syringes," Grissom said.

Matthew nodded. "The ones she brought in from work. Grabbed him at the stairs. Stuck him in the arm. He was confused and he stumbled. I took him outside. He tried to hit me, but missed. Then he threw up. After that, he grinned at me. He thanked me."

"Matthew," Grissom said. "You didn't remember any of this before. How do you know what's happened to you? What the other part of you did?"

Matthew stared off into the far corner. "He's gone now. Flew far away. Like a bird. Or an angel. My kids are angels now, did you know that? Before he left, he told me everything."

Grissom squatted down to try and look Matthew in the eye. "Matthew…" Grissom said slowly. "Will he come back?"

"No…" said Matthew, shaking his head. "He can't come back now. Not unless she poisons me again. She can't do that though, you know. She's dead."

Matthew stopped shaking. His blue eyes continued to stare into the far corner of the room, wide and empty. His lips parted and curled into a small smile. He laughed a dry, curt laugh and then stopped abruptly. He stiffly fell over onto the floor and didn't move. His eyes were still open and he was still hugging his knees, but Grissom didn't need to check his pulse to know that he was very much dead.

Grissom slowly rose to his feet as he stared at the body of Matthew Samson.

"Brass," he said, his voice quiet. "Across the hall, Warrick has Brandon Carter, head of the agency that created this virus. Would you be so kind as to go and arrest him please?"

Brass nodded and left the room. Warrick and Sofia entered.

"He's dead," Warrick said. "What's that mean for Greg?"

"Greg only got one dose," said Grissom. "Although by the sound of it, I'll bet it was a high one. Hopefully, he'll sweat it out. Fight it like any other disease."

"There's no cure?" Sofia asked. "We can ask that Carter guy, maybe they have one."

"He said the virus was still in its early stages," Warrick replied. "I doubt they've gotten around to making the cure yet."

Grissom stared at Matthew Samson's body for a long time. "They never do," he said.


	7. Us

_**Author's Note:**_ This is my favorite chapter. :) Also, I've finished the story. I'm starting a new one starring Catherine and Sara called "Fine Flowers." It's a ghost story, if your interested.

* * *

He dreamed in double vision, and it did not please a part of him. Half of him insisted on the nightmare while the other half wished for a calm and pleasant slumber. It was as though they were trying to decide on which movie to watch before the night's end. It was not the first time he had argued with himself in his sleep, but it had never been so severe. 

_What are you afraid of_, hissed the firebrand.

He would not admit that he feared the firebrand more than any external threat. But he would not have peace. The rebel heard all, whether he admitted it or not.

_You're wrong, you know. You're not afraid of me. You're afraid of losing _her.

Greg had never been any good at arguing with himself. He had to admit that the rebel was many things, but a liar wasn't one of them.

_She treats you like shit. Why do you give a damn if she drops dead? You're not even worth her hate. She is completely indifferent towards you._

It hurt Greg to hear her talked about like that. **Stop it. **

_I don't think I will. I'm only doing what you really want. And I think _that's _what you're _really _afraid of._

**I never wanted to hurt her.**

_She left us no choice._

**There is no "us." There is only you and me.**

_What are semantics, in the great scheme of things? She left you and me no choice._

**She left _you_ no choice. **

_OK. Cling to your semantics. It all means the same in the end anyway. _

**What are you doing here, anyway? You come out of the depths of my skull, unbidden and unwanted, and wreak havoc with my nervous system.**

_You've buried me one too many times. I came because you needed me to save you._

**I was safe when I was without you.**

_You were _dying_ without me, you ungrateful son of a bitch._

**I am rubber, you are glue…**

_Shut up before I make a condom out of you._

**Even my unconscious can do rhyming insults.**

_I _am_ your better half._

**Go away.**

_No can do, Greggo._

**You can't call me that.**

_Why? I know how giggly you get when Nick says it, you little gay bastard._

**If I was gay, that's one thing, but let's be politically correct here. Besides, you're only hurting yourself when you insult me. Didn't you say we're the same?**

_I thought there was no "we."_

**I also thought I'd never be arguing with an alternate personality inside my own head, but I was wrong about that too, wasn't I? Are we high or what?**

_As a kite, my friend._

**So we can agree on something.**

_We agree on more than that. Let's kill the bitch._

**Don't call her that. Don't you dare call her that.**

_Who's gonna know other than you? She is a bitch, though._

**Why are you so mean? I'm not mean. I'm not as mean as you.**

_No. I'm not mean. I'm repressed urges that you aren't allowed to express in a civilized society. I'm inside of everyone. And that's what scares you. You agree with everything I say, with everything I do, on some primordial level, you know that I'm right._

**I don't believe you.**

_You can't lie to me, Greg. I _am _your darkest secrets._

**Why are you out to hurt the ones I love?**

_We always do. One way or another. Why do you think spouses have affairs? Children rebel? Siblings compete? We pass it off as trivial squabbles, when really it's a pursuit of self-interest. We love people to gain their love in return, and when we have it, it stops being a quest and becomes a convenience. There is no love other than the love of the self, and the search for its validation. Your incessant worship of Sara Sidle is your unconscious desire to have her return your love and make you feel good about yourself. And she doesn't. And she never will. So what point is there in pursuing her?_

**That's not love.**

_Maybe not then. But it is what you feel for Sara._

**You're wrong.**

_I'm you're subconscious, Greg. I'm never wrong._

**No, you're not my subconscious. You're everything bad in me mushed together in one great big ball of badness. My subconscious is more reasonable than you.**

_You always were good with words._

**Sarcasm's my thing. Stay away from it.**

_We hurt the ones we love, Greg, for one of two reasons. A) That they refuse to return our love, and therefore must be punished or B) That they do return our love, and therefore their love must be tested, and if it endures, tested incessantly until it finally breaks. And when it finally does break, well then it's exactly like scenario A, isn't it? It is a self-destructive cycle of self-interest. Ironic, isn't it?_

**And if it doesn't break? What then?**

_It always breaks, Greg. Such is the nature of love._

**You don't know shit about love.**

_If it continues to endure despite all efforts, then we lose our love for them and end up hurting them by refusing to love them back._

**You're a jackass.**

_But my logic is infallible._

**You're logic is just a bunch of pessimistic bullshit.**

_There is no such thing as true love, or soul mates. There is only the self, and the validation of the self. That is all you can hope to get out of love, Greg. And she milks it from you like you're Daisy __Dee__, the fattest cow on the dairy farm. She is healthy because her self-love is validated every day by your annoying and unfaltering adoration of her. She is not a Goddess. She's a hell bitch._

**And you're a monkey's ass. Get the fuck out of my head.**

_I think I'd like to stay._

**My head. My rules. Go back to my subconscious, subconscious man!**

_I prefer Super Subconscious Man._

**What did I tell you about the sarcasm?**

_Greg. I just want to point one thing out to you._

**What's that?**

_First, there is no "we." Then, there is a "we." Soon, there will be neither, and you won't have to worry about this love business for a second longer._

**You're going to kill me, aren't you?**

_Kill _us_, Greg, kill _us.

**Why?**

_I don't know. I'm high. It's time to die. Look, I rhymed again._

**If I live, will you live too?**

_I'm afraid so._

**What drugs are we on?**

_Dozens._

**Is there any way I can get rid of you?**

_I _am_ you, Greg. You can only escape me in death._

**What will you do, if I survive this?**

_You won't._

**But if I did, would you hurt her?**

_If I had lips, I would be smiling right now._

**You can never be a part of me. Don't you hurt her. Don't you hurt her _ever._**

_That's your weakness, Greg. Your unshakable belief in her._

**I would say that was my virtue.**

_And if I had a mouth, I would be gagging right now._

**I die, you die, that's how it works.**

_Yes._

**She would be safe.**

_Unfortunately_.

**I would be free.**

_I don't know what death brings, Greg. But theoretically, you would be._

**Then bring on the funeral.**

* * *

Nick swallowed the lump in his throat as he watched Greg wrestle with his sheets in a feverish delirium. Catherine tapped him on the shoulder and handed him a Styrofoam cup of coffee. As Nick lifted it to his lips and relaxed his jaw, a jolt of pain shot through his skull. 

"Ah…" he said, reaching up with his free hand to massage his jaw muscles. He hadn't realized that his teeth had been clenched so hard. He wondered how much of them he'd grounded away in this one night. The hot bitter liquid flooded his mouth and soothed his jaw muscles before slipping down his esophagus and flooding his cold body with warmth.

"How's Sara?" Nick finally asked when his jaw was feeling looser.

"She'll survive," Catherine said. "She's sleeping now, and deeply too, but just because she's exhausted, not because she's comatose or anything like that."

"Thanks," Nick said, "for taking the results in to Grissom and letting me come here."

"The results were inconclusive," Catherine said.

Nick turned to stare at her. "What do you mean inconclusive?"

"Skid marks on the road indicate a swift change in direction," Catherine replied. "Witnesses corroborate. Some say they saw a squabble inside the car, others say they saw the driver just veer off to the right. No one agrees on anything, and the physical evidence doesn't tell us what went on inside the car. We found Sara's prints on the wheel, though. Her left hand on the right side of the wheel. I think she might have pulled it."

"Why?" Nick asked.

"To stop Greg," Catherine said, as if it were obvious. "Why else?"

Nick nodded and stared at Greg in silence. "Catherine?"

"Hm?"

"Would you say we… we kinda take Greg for… granted?"

"I wouldn't say that at all," Catherine replied. "Greg is very much loved and appreciated. His original replacement quit because of him, remember?"

"I know…" said Nick. "But we kinda… _I_ kinda…"

"You don't 'kinda' anything, Nick," Catherine said, turning to look at him. "It's adorable, the way he looks up to you, the way you look after him. If anything, you're the nicest to him out of all of us. So don't sit there and talk about how you take him for granted."

Nick nodded in understanding and shut up again.

After a few moments, it was Catherine who broke the silence again. "I remember, when you were missing, how silent everything seemed all of a sudden. There was no world outside of finding you. In our line of work, you win some, you lose some, but we, none of us, were ready to lose you. And if you were lost, then there was no world. I remember thinking about those infamous 'what ifs,' you know, the ones you're thinking right now, and I remember how utterly terrified I was. What if you died before we could find you? What if we could _never_ found you? What if you would never be the same? What if there was permanent damage? What if you shot yourself and we had to watch?"

Nick didn't know what to say to this. He wished that Catherine hadn't brought it up in the first place. It made him feel more uncomfortable than comforted. So he focused on Greg and said nothing.

"I had an answer for each of them, you know," Catherine said.

Nick had been so distracted by Greg again, he'd forgotten what she'd been speaking about. "For what?"

"Those 'what ifs.' I had an answer for them. Being a reasonable person, I always have a plan for every scenario. I don't know if I should be ashamed to admit that I thought of what I'd do without you. Because it did feel like the world would stop. But the rational part of me knew it wouldn't, and I had to plan ahead, find a way to move on. If you died, or if we never found you, then…" she glanced at Nick, and then looked swiftly away again. "Then… I would forget about you. Not the good things. Not the way you made people feel. Not the things you'd say. I'd forget about that night. I'd forget the fact that you died, and I'd imagine you moved away somewhere, like Dallas. And I would go on. And if you were damaged, physically, mentally, I don't know, then I'd… I'd pretend you weren't. I'd treat you like anyone else. If you were a vegetable, I'd visit you every day and pretend you could hear me. And if you shot yourself, and I had to watch it on that infernal web cam, or worse, in person, when we uncovered you and you didn't see Warrick, then I would imagine that you were someone else completely. A faceless victim to process, the one that got away. Not Nick Stokes. Not our Nicky."

Nick listened to her intently, but still did not know what to say to her. Why was she telling him all this now, when he was worried sick about Greg?

Catherine sighed. "I guess what I'm trying to say is, Nick, in case you didn't notice, all my solutions revolved around denying your tragedy completely, one way or another. I've never been good with loss. Not Eddie's. Not even Sam's, for God's sake. And if I lost you… If we lose Greg… It's all the same, isn't it? You're buried underground all over again." Catherine frowned. "Only… only this time, you're standing right beside me, and it's not you, it's Greg, and all our meticulous skills, all our evidence, nothing we can gather or learn can find him to dig him out again. We just have to trust that he's smart enough, and strong enough, to dig himself out of that grave. To battle his own demons, without our help."

There was a stinging in Nick's eyes but he blinked it away. Not while Catherine was here. Why did she have to tell him all that? Why did he have to remind her so vividly of that night two years ago when he had been so very, very certain that he was going to die?

"Catherine," he said finally, his voice strained. "I know you meant well, in telling me all that. But now is a really, _really_ bad time."

"Oh," Catherine said simply, and she folded her arms and looked down at the floor.

Nick let out a huge sigh and stared at the ceiling, blinking continually until his eyes were dry again. "Dammit, Catherine," he said, exhausted. "Shit happens, but why does it always happen to us?"

Catherine didn't reply. Perhaps she thought it best to say nothing after her embarrassing confession. Nick felt guilty.

"Catherine," he said, closing his eyes. "I appreciate how you opened up to me just now."

She still didn't speak, but Nick didn't know what else to say beyond that. He did really respect her for her candor, and he was touched by some of the things she told him, but in the end all her speech did was remind him of a night he'd tried so hard to forget. And under the circumstances, those were ghosts he didn't want to dig up right now. He shuttered at the bad metaphor and silently promised never to use the word 'dig' in a sentence for the rest of the night.

With nothing left to say to Catherine, Nick approached Greg's hospital bed. He was strung up to machines, and his head wound was bandaged, but his rest was far from peaceful. Greg kept thrashing about, beads of sweat dripping into his hair and down his arms, his skin red from the heat. He was muttering things, words that made no sense to Nick, although he longed to understand them. He pulled up a chair and sat next to him.

"Come on, Greg," Nick said. "You can pull through this. If anyone can, it's you."

Catherine was quickly near him again. She stood behind his chair and squeezed his shoulders. "He's fighting his own demons," she said. "But that doesn't mean we can't stand on the sidelines and cheer him on."

Out of all the words Catherine had said, it was those that finally succeeded in bringing a smile to Nick's lips.

* * *

Grissom watched Sara sleep from the doorway, her chest rising and falling beneath the sheets, her dreams peaceful, her rest undisturbed by feverish nightmares. He found it was far easier to observe this friend then the one across the hall. She looked a little worse for wear, roughed up around the edges, but she would come out of this OK, and look back on this whole night as a dream to be forgotten. 

Greg, on the other hand, would he even have any recollection of this night whatsoever? Perhaps it was better forgotten. It would be one of those taboo subjects no one ever brought up again. Yes. The night Greg was possessed by Mr. Hyde. How silly would that seem, to any normal scientist? That mankind had actually created a biochemical agent to invade the body and mind and turn it into two battling entities inside one shell. Simple mathematics dictated that one of them had to destroy the other. There was no room for two minds in one body.

Sara turned over in her sleep and her back was facing Grissom. Grissom wished he could crawl into a hospital bed and slip into a deep sleep too. Nick's abduction had affected all of them, and Grissom had silently promised himself never to let anything like that happen to any of them again. And then, once more, a CSI disappears from a crime scene. It's true, he hadn't been prepared for biological warfare, but he couldn't help but feel like he should have gone more to make sure nothing happened to his team.

"Excuse me," came a voice from behind him. Grissom turned around and frowned at what he saw. A soldier, highly ranked by his uniform, stood before him. He looked strong and resolute with his broad shoulders, or maybe Grissom just felt intimidated by the number of badges on his lapel.

"Can I help you?" he asked.

"Yes, you can," said the soldier. "My name is Col. Henry Carrew, I need to speak with you a moment if I may."

Grissom was suddenly on his guard. He knew this colonel was bad news. "I have time," he lied. He should have been getting back to the lab, but he had been procrastinating at the hospital, wanting to stay near Greg and Sara as long as he could. "What is the matter?"

"The matter is your employee," said Col. Carrew. "And the suspects you have in custody."

"Brandon Carter?"

"And Matthew Samson," Col. Carrew replied.

"Matthew Samson is dead," Grissom told him.

"I am aware of that after talking to Detective Brass and Mr. Ecklie," said Col. Carrew. "Mr. Ecklie told me to inform you that your lab has been ordered to release his body to us, along with Mr. Carter."

"What?" Grissom exclaimed, furious. "With all due respect, sir, we can't do that yet. Brandon Carter broke the law and is the only link we have to his agency, which could help us find a cure for a CSI infected with—"

"A manmade virus," Col. Carrew interrupted. "Mr. Grissom, I don't need to tell you that you cannot argue with me. It has already been done."

"Matthew Samson's corpse could be used to study this illness," Grissom said. "My guy is in there fighting for his life, I'm sorry, but you can not _take_ that from him."

"I understand that you are upset," said Col. Carrew.

"I'm more than upset, Colonel," Grissom said. "I was _upset_ when Sara Sidle was attacked by a man infected with your virus. I was irked when Greg Sanders went missing. I was angry when I discovered the cause to all this was a clandestine research facility and a manmade virus. I crossed furious when one of my guys crashed his car into a tree because of what this virus was doing to him. I was further incensed when I heard he'd gone into feverish convulsions. Right now, I am absolutely enraged, and I cannot be accountable for my words or actions. You lay one finger on Greg Sanders, you take away anything that could help him recover, and I promise you, Colonel, I will not stop until I completely expose and destroy whatever top secret operation you are working on, are we clear?"

The colonel's face was stern and cold. "Mr. Grissom," he said. "You are lucky that I know you to be no actual threat to my operation, or else I might have to arrest you. I know you will be cooperative with our needs."

Grissom was fuming, but he didn't let it show again. "What do you want with them, anyway?"

"Bennett & Locke was under the employ of the US government, Mr. Grissom. Katerina Samson was working for us, and all her research, including her two human test subjects, are now our property."

Grissom bristled visibly. "Greg Sanders is _not_ your _property_," he said, his voice a low guttural growl. "He is a _human being_."

"I am only informing you as a courtesy, Mr. Grissom," Col. Carrew replied calmly. "You are quite respected among the department here. I have a court order. Greg Sanders, Brandon Carter, and the late Matthew Samson are to go with me to a base outside of Las Vegas."

"There's no way Greg would survive the journey," Grissom said suddenly. "No doctor could allow it."

"The doctors have already discharged him into our custody," said Col. Carrew.

"You will kill him," Grissom growled.

"That is not our intention, Mr. Grissom," Col. Carrew replied. "We hope to keep him alive as long as possible, possibly cure him. We would be doing him a _favor_. But if he dies, he will be decorated and buried with honors. He will have died in service to his country."

Grissom grit his teeth. "In service to his country," he said, spitefully. "No. He will be burried _here_, no military, no honors, because he didn't _die_ for his fucking _country_, Col. Carrew, he was _murdered_ by it." Grissom's anger dissipated into shock as he realized the words he'd just said. Greg wasn't dead yet. Why were they speaking as if he were?

Col. Carrew was visibly losing his patience. "There is nothing you can do to stop me, Mr. Grissom."

Grissom knew he was fighting a losing battle. But he wouldn't let politics be the death of Greg. "Please," he begged at last, defeated. "Just… give him twenty-four hours. You have Samson, study him all you want. Don't kill my guy."

Col. Carrew opened his mouth to respond then hesitated. He held a hand up to his ear and turned away from Grissom. He walked down the hall a ways as he muttered something to himself. A few moments later he was back and he gave Grissom a hard gaze.

"You're lucky," said Col. Carrew. "Brandon Carter refuses to cooperate unless we leave Greg Sanders alone."

Grissom was startled. "What?"

"Listen, Mr. Grissom, I'm going to level with you here," said Col. Carrew. "Greg isn't as important to us as Carter is. He's the one with access to the virus. I don't know why he's suddenly gone all noble on us, but for some reason he just single-handedly cut you a break. You have twenty-four hours. I'll be back then to claim his body."

Col. Carrew turned around and began to march off down the hall.

"What if he doesn't die?" Grissom called after him.

Col. Carrew shook his head. "Believe me, Mr. Grissom," he said. "They always do."

Grissom's phone began to ring. He looked at the colonel's retreating back with a furrowed brow as he unconsciously answered his phone. "Gil Grissom."

"I think I deserve a thank you."

Grissom pulled the phone away from his ear and looked at the number. "Jim, I didn't recognize you. What am I thanking you for?"

"I take it you've spoken with Col. Carrew already?"

"Yes," said Grissom. "Unfortunately."

"And I take it he got a call to leave Greg alone," Brass said.

"What did you do, Jim?" Grissom asked, curiously.

"Carter and I had a little chat before the government came to take him away," Brass said, and Grissom clearly heard the smile in his voice. "Let's just say I have mastered the art of persuasion."

"What did you threaten him with?" Grissom asked.

"It wasn't a threat," Brass said. "I appealed to his better nature."

"Brendan Carter had a better nature?" Grissom said, surprised.

"He had all these theories concerning good an evil," Brass said. "He doesn't want to fall into the evil category, have another death on his hands. Apparently _his_ conscience is intact.

"Thank you, Jim," Grissom said. "You may have saved Greg's life. I'll call you later."

Catherine came out of Greg's room, looking confused. "Grissom!" she said. "Some doctors said they were taking Greg away!"

"That won't happen, Catherine," Grissom assured her.

"What's going on?" Catherine asked.

"I think we found out who one of Bennett & Locke's biggest client is. The military."

"You're joking," Catherine said.

"They wanted to use Greg," Grissom said, his anger rising again. "Study him like an animal. They made the thing that's crawled inside him, using him up. But we're not letting them, Catherine. Not today."

"They'll be back," Catherine pointed out.

"They wouldn't be the government if they didn't come back," Grissom said. He looked past Catherine into Greg's room. "How is he doing?"

Catherine looked over her shoulder. "The same," she replied. "His fever won't come down. I don't think Nick's left his side since I've been here."

"It's hard," Grissom said. "Knowing there's nothing we can do."

"We let the doctors do their job," Catherine said. "And we hope—" She interrupted herself, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. "And we believe that Greg is strong enough to fight it off."

"It killed Matthew Samson," Grissom said, quietly.

"Matthew Samson was exposed to it for far longer than Greg was," Catherine replied.

Grissom said nothing. 


	8. Three

_**Author's Note:**_ This chapter kind of drags on if you ask me. I was in a slump when I wrote this. Next one's better. Much. It's also the second to last. There are two alternate endings! Joy! I finally decided on one, but I'll include the second ending in a bonus chapter, like special features on a DVD. Enjoy.

* * *

Warrick headed back into the lab as the military took Carter away from them. With a sigh, he made his way to the break room to get some coffee. As he passed the reception, a woman stood up. 

"You are Warrick Brown?" she said.

Warrick stopped, having missed her before, and turned to greet her. He black hair was tied back in a ponytail and she wore horn-rimmed glasses. "Can I help you, ma'am?"

She reached out a hand. "My name is Dr. Samantha Utterson, I'm in charge of—"

"I know who you are," Warrick said, suddenly excited and confused all at once. "Why didn't the government whisk you away?"

"Brendan's name was on all their contracts," Samantha replied. "As I'm sure he told you, he handled the legalities, and the more shady side of our business. I'm here to inquire on the wellbeing of whoever was unfortunate enough to be infected with Dr. Samson's virus."

"The Samson Virus," Warrick said bitterly. "Is that what you're calling it?"

"I was just specifying which virus," Samantha said. "But I suppose it is fitting, as it was crafted by Dr. Samson and the first human victim is Matthew Samson."

"Is that true?" Warrick asked. "I heard a rumor he wasn't the first human victim, Dr. Utterson."

Samantha Utterson grew suddenly cold. "Can we have this conversation elsewhere?"

"I can take you into a room, if you like," Warrick said.

"Actually, I would much rather see the patient," Samantha replied. "Thanks to previous experiments, I have a knowledge of how the virus progresses."

"Yeah, I'll bet you do," Warrick said. "OK. If you think you can help him—"

"I never said that," Samantha said quickly. "I said I understood the disease. As soon as I heard what happened, I converted Katy's old team into a new team to research a cure. I'll do what I can, Mr. Brown, but I can't say it'll be enough."

"Well it's more than we got right now," Warrick said. "Follow me, Dr. Utterson."

* * *

Greg had never been dead before, so he wasn't so sure what he should expect. But floating in strange black ether felt so similar to dreaming, that he could only deduce that he was still alive. 

_The lower side of me, so long indulged, so recently chained down, began to growl for license. Not that I dreamed of resuscitating Hyde; the bare idea of that would startle me to frenzy: no, it was in my own person, that I was once more tempted to trifle with my conscience; and it was as an ordinary secret sinner, that I at last fell before the assaults of temptation._

**What the fuck is that?**

_Robert Louis Stevenson. You read him in ninth grade. Or rather, you pretended to. That particular passage was one Mrs. Lockwood made you read out in class._

**So English wasn't my subject. How do you remember all of that?**

_I remember everything, my friend._

**What's that passage mean anyway?**

_It means that even without me to blame, Greg, you will still find yourself fulfilling my urges. Do you know how that story ends? I don't think we got that far._

**When do we die and get this over with?**

_I am not certain._

**I feel… pain. And heat. What is this?**

_Hell._

But it wasn't Hell. No. It was too bright to be Hell. There were shapes and sweat which dripped into his eyes. He tossed his head back and let out a low, pained whimper.

Something cold touched Greg's forehead and he turned his burning head towards the source of relief. To his horror, it pulled away from him again and he tried to call out, but then something colder took its place, and dripped into his hair. Rivers of cold carved their way through his scalp and Greg almost smiled. But he still felt like he was burning.

"Hang in there, Greggo."

Nick. So it was Nick who was there. Greg couldn't recognize the face of the shapeless blob which stood off to his left, but he did recognize the name. He tried to speak, but his mouth would form no words. Every muscle in his body was contracting all at once. He missed his black ether. He even missed his alter-ego. If he had to wake up to a world of fire and pain, then he didn't want to wake up at all.

"Oh my God…"

Who was that? That wasn't nick. The voice… it wasn't deep enough.

"What are you doing out of bed?" Nick was concerned.

"I woke up."

"Sara—"

_Sara!_

"Nick, don't start with me. Oh God… look at him…"

_No… No, Sara, run, go far, far away from me._

Greg's back arched as a spasm of pain shot up his spine and he let out a scream. He fell back on the bed, and things grew clearer, things weren't blurry, he could see again. He was in a clean white room. He was breathing heavily, but he still felt like his skin was burning. Even the cold compress on his head felt lukewarm now.

"Get out…" Greg muttered, staring at the ceiling.

"Greg?" Nick said. There was the sound of shuffling and two shadows blocked the light. Something clutched his hand and squeezed it very tight.

"No…" Greg panted. "Get her _out_ of here…"

Whatever held his hand weakened and then let go all together. He saw one of the figures stepping back.

"Greg… it's Sara."

Greg closed his eyes. "I know… I know who she is…" When he opened his eyes again, the images were sharp enough to see their faces. Nick stood by his bed, and Sara by the door. Her eyes were wet. She looked like a train wreck. Greg smiled. "Aw, Jesus, beautiful…" he said. "What happened to you?"

Nick looked over his shoulder at Sara, but her eyes remained glued on Greg.

Greg took a deep breath. "You should go, you know… he wants to hurt you. I can't let that happen."

She strode forward quickly and took Greg's hand again. "Greg," she said. "Greg, honey, you have _got_ to beat this, do you hear me?"

"What's wrong with me?" Greg asked. "What's going on?"

"You're sick, Greg," Nick said. "You have a virus."

"Is it contagious?" Greg asked. "You guys should both… leave…"

"It's not contagious, Greg," Nick said. "Not by a long shot. We've tested it."

"You're stronger than a silly little virus," Sara said. "You'll beat this."

Greg shook his head slowly. "In the car… Sara, I don't know what happened. I wasn't there, and I'm sorry, so whatever he did to you… But…"

"What is it, Greg?" Sara prompted when he didn't continue.

Greg's smile was delirious. "My God…" he said in awe. "You are so cute when you're worried."

Sara laughed and closed her eyes. She nodded. "Greg, I know he wasn't you. I crashed the car."

"I know you did," said Greg. "I was there."

"I thought you just said…"

"No," Greg interrupted. "You chased him away… you said that you loved me."

Sara's smile faded, but her grip on his hand tightened. Nick was looking at her in confusion.

"Greg…" Sara said. "I-I didn't know. I thought he was going to kill us."

"He was," Greg said. "He is. Still is. Oh _God, _it's so hot in here."

"Doctors gave you something for the fever," Nick said. "It oughtta be kicking in right about now. Things should cool down soon."

Greg kicked the sheets off his bed and stared blankly at the ceiling. Tears streamed out his eyes and into his hair. "Sara, I don't want to hurt you…"

"Sh," Sara said soothingly, stroking his hair. "You could never hurt me. Not even the other you. He's all talk. Just like you."

"I don't know what I could do anymore…" Greg whispered, his voice hoarse.

Nick rose to his feet. "I'm going to go tell Grissom you're lucid," he said. "He was on his way out, but he'll want to see you."

Greg nodded slowly. "Do you hate me, Sara?"

"Don't talk like that," Sara said. "I could never hate you."

"I might have killed you," Greg said. "Could have."

"Didn't," Sara replied. "I'm OK."

Greg's face contorted as another shot of pain ripped through his body. When it was gone, he began to cry. "I love you so much, if I end up hurting you I wouldn't be able to live with myself."

Sara rose to her feet and leaned over Greg. He looked over at her through his tears, which she wiped away with her hand. He smiled and laughed a little as her hair fell lightly around her face. She was pale, and her arm was still in a sling, but she was still a sight for Greg's very sore eyes.

"I told you already, Greg," Sara said. "You would never hurt me."

"What he said," Greg said, "I didn't mean it."

Sara laughed. "He said that you loved me. He called me an angel. He said I drove you crazy."

Greg rolled his eyes. "He didn't say all that."

"He did," Sara said, repositioning the cloth on his head. "He said a few other things too, but they don't matter to me."

"It hurts so much, Sara…" he said with a sob. "I can't do this."

Sara leaned down and gently kissed his salty dry lips. "Hush. When you beat this, I'll be here for you."

Greg closed his eyes and smiled. "Aw," he said. "Why'd you have to go and do that?"

"Because you're adorable," Sara replied.

"Nah, I know that," Greg said. "I always thought that our first kiss would be when I was dressed like James Bond or something, and I'd sweep you off your feet. Not when I'm all sweaty and gross."

"I don't mind you sweaty and gross," Sara said.

Greg laughed a weak and tired laugh. "Sara, I never go there on a first date."

"You're so dirty," Sara said rolling her eyes. "You're also a liar."

"I'm the perfect gentleman," Greg replied. He winced in pain, and Sara's face fell.

Nick came back in the room. "Grissom and Catherine headed back, Ecklie had a job for them. But look who I found in the hall?"

Warrick entered, followed by a woman neither Sara nor Greg recognized.

"Hey, there, Greg," Warrick said. "You look good."

"Who's she?" Greg asked.

"Mr. Sanders," the woman said, moving forward quickly. "I would like to ask you a few questions. Your fever looks like it's decreased, how do you feel?"

"Like shit," Greg replied. "But how are you?"

The woman looked back at Warrick. "Well at least he still has his sense of humor." She turned back to Greg. "Mr. Sanders, my name is Samantha Utterson, I'm here to help you. I have an intimate knowledge of this virus and I think that if you just answer my questions honestly, I can…" she glanced at Nick and Warrick. "I can maybe prevent this from happening to anyone else. Can you tell me when you started feeling the effects of the virus."

Greg shook his head no. "If you're familiar with this thing, Ms. Utterson—"

"_Doctor_ Utterson," Samantha interrupted.

"_Doctor_," Greg said. "Then you know that I only remember half the things that happened to me."

"I see," said Samantha. "But you have become aware of the second part of you."

"All too much," Greg replied, his voice shaking with his shivering.

Samantha nodded. "And is there any conversation between the two of you?"

"Yes," Greg answered.

Samantha looked surprised. She directed her next questions to the others. "When the second personality surfaces, what color is his irises?"

"Blue," Sara answered.

"Uh huh," Samantha said. "How long has he been infected?"

"About ten hours," Nick answered.

Samantha was caught off guard. "_Ten hours_?"

"That's right," said Warrick. "Give or take about a half hour."

"Mr. Brown, may I speak with you outside a moment?" Samantha asked.

He nodded and they stepped outside.

"What's going on?" Greg asked Nick. "What's she doing here?"

"She's here to help, Greggo," Nick replied. "Grissom and Catherine send their regards."

"I don't want to be dead…" Greg muttered.

"You won't be," Nick said stubbornly.

Outside of Greg's room, Warrick turned to Samantha Utterson. "Alright, doc," he said. "What's with the surprise, I thought you knew all about this virus."

"I did," Samantha said. "Or at least the strain we had in our lab, but this virus isn't supposed to act that fast in ten hours. Your friend is describing symptoms seen after three weeks of infection. Sure, the incubation period is short, only a few hours, but by now the virus should have only created the division, and he should be acting out. His eyes shouldn't change color, for one, and for another the original personality should be completely unaware of the second personality, let alone be speaking with it. Judging by the blood sample you showed me, I can guess that ten hours ago someone shot him up with a double dose of it, but Katy must have been working on a new strain."

"What's that mean for Greg?" Warrick asked.

"Well," said Samantha, frowning. "The original strain was incredibly flawed. It's purpose was to—"

"Shape the ultimate soldier, leave your conscience at the door, I know," Warrick said.

"In effect, yes," Samantha said. "Create the perfect killer and when the job was done, revert back to one's original self with no recollection of the horrible things one did while in that state."

"The assassin personality serves as a sort of fugue state," Warrick said.

"Exactly," said Samantha. "You think we're evil, Mr. Brown, but we were trying to help the soldiers. If they had no recollection of the war they were in, there would be no post-traumatic stress."

"And they would gladly kill whoever they needed to for their country," Warrick replied.

Samantha sighed. "It was supposed to be harmless, in effect. Not create fevers like this, at any rate. The second personality was supposed to be without morals, it's true, but it wasn't supposed to be as violent as it turned out to be."

"Just obedient," Warrick said. "And what about this strain, what is it doing to Greg?"

"Besides progressing at a rapid rate?" Samantha said. "I'm not sure. I can tell you what comes after this, though. He will revert back to Greg Sanders, for an hour or so, and then he will slip into a very violent state. After that, his mind will slowly deteriorate until the virus has completely destroyed his DNA and his mind can no longer function. He will die."

"How long?" Warrick asked.

"At this rate?" Samantha said. "All that can happen in the next… three hours."

"Good God…" Warrick said with a sigh. "And there isn't _anything_ you can do?"

"Not I, no," said Samantha. "But this strain may be different from its parent strain. Greg skipped a phase, for instance, and that is the catatonic stage, which in normal patients occurs sometime during the first week. The subject does not respond to external stimuli for about two days. This strain may skip more phases."

"I need to tell Grissom," Warrick said.

"I can do that," Samantha said, kindly. "You go in and be with your friend. He won't be like this much longer."

Warrick nodded and they parted ways. He looked in the room. "Nick, Sara?"

They both looked up at him as he beckoned them to meet him in the hall. Once outside, Warrick closed the door. "I didn't want to say this in front of Greg, but Samantha's prognosis was not a good one."

"Don't say it, Warrick," Sara said looking paler then ever. "Please, I just can't…" she stumbled and Nick caught her arm.

"Sara, you're not at the top of your game either—"

"I'm better than he is, Nick," Sara snapped. She pulled her arm away from him. "I can stand on my own, too." Although this assertion was undermined when her knees gave out from under her and she fell straight back into Nick's open arms. He lifted her to her feet again and swung her arm over his shoulder.

"You should lay down," he insisted.

"What did she say, Warrick?" Sara asked, ignoring Nick, though she continued to lean on him.

Warrick opened his mouth to speak but no words came out. "Damn…" he said, rubbing his eyes. Sara could see them glisten in the florescent light of the hospital hallway. "She said… Greg could be dead within the next three hours."

Sara took a deep breath and bit her lip as she wavered. Nick opened his mouth to speak but she held up a finger to silence him and closed her eyes, saying, "I'm fine!" before she completely lost consciousness and Nick caught her for the third time. Nick looked up at Warrick.

"Let's get her back to bed," he told his friend. "And make the best of what we have."

They did exactly that. On their way back over to Greg's room Warrick became nervous.

"What are we going to say to him?" he asked Nick.

"That we're not giving up on him," Nick replied.

Warrick opened the door and was hit in the face with full-fledged panic. "Looks like we won't be saying anything at all to him."

Nick's eyes darted around the room in fear. "Where the hell did he _go_?!"

* * *

The phone rang on three separate occasions in five minutes. 

Grissom looked over the crime scene photos snapped by the day shift for the thirteenth time that hour. His mind kept wandering. He had left his heart back in that hospital. So it was a welcome distraction for him when his phone rang.

"Grissom."

"Mr. Grissom, I'm Dr. Utterson, I'm familiar with Greg Sanders virus."

"Are you now," Grissom said. "Then you're either with the military, or you're not allowed to be talking to me right now."

"Neither, my name was never on Carter's contract," she answered. "I have been asked by Warrick Brown to tell you that you might want to spend as much time with your friend as you can. The way the virus is progressing…"

Grissom tried to tune out her next words but they crawled into his ear like a centipede and wiggled around his mind. He closed his eyes.

"Thank you," he said, and hung up. He stood up and threw the photos down on the table angrily. He then sat down at his desk and stared at the phone for a few minutes before he felt the familiar sting behind his eyes and he began to cry. He took off his glasses and ran a hand through his hair. He wiped away his tears and swallowed his emotions, resolving to go back to the hospital and spend what time was left with Greg.

The phone rang again. For a moment, Grissom just stared at it, contemplating not answering. His compulsive habits got the better of him. He couldn't just let ringing phones lie.

"Hello," Grissom said, keeping the pain from his voice.

"Grissom, we have a problem."

"Nick?" Grissom said. "What's wrong? Is Greg OK?"

"Uh… He bolted. Again."

"He what?" Grissom's voice was flat with fatigue.

"He ditched the hospital," Nick said. "Did… did that doctor tell you—"

"Yes," Grissom said quietly. "She called just a minute ago."

"Grissom, we've gotta find him," Nick said. "Who knows what he's getting himself into?"

Grissom sighed. "I'll get Catherine."

He hung up on Nick and grabbed his vest, which he'd slung over his chair. He was just about to leave when the phone rang again. Hoping it was Catherine, and not Ecklie, he answered.

"What?" he said, sharply.

"Hey there, Grissom!"

Grissom paled. "Greg?" 


	9. The Tragic Suicide of Henry Jekyll

**_Author's Note:_** You're in luck. Thanks to Daylight Savings, I woke up an hour EARLIER for my exam than I wanted to. I hate time shifts, they ALWAYS throw me off. Anyways, as I wait for class, cramming last minutes of studying in (which will, inevitably do me no good) I decided to update a few hours early today (in celebration of Daylight Savings). Additionaly, a few notes: 1) do not hate me. 2) do not think it's over. 3) don't hate me. 4) I've been doing heavy editing of the ending, so I HOPE to get it up tomorrow... we'll see. 5) the alternative ending will also be up tomorrow as a second "bonus" chapter. I may or may not also include a deleted Sandle and a deleted Nick-centric scene from my other story, _Slither_, since so many of you have read it. Probably not though, I think that's just TOO tacky. I may in fact, include those in Slither itself, if interested. Or I might forget. I removed them because they were both badly written and served no purpose in the greater scheme of things. I'm actually deliberating whether I should even tell you that or not. Whatever, I always babble in my author's notes.

6) Please do not hate me. At least, don't hate me YET. This story is NOT DONE.

* * *

It was all Catherine could do to prevent herself from smashing her head on the desk. She felt like she was dealing with five-year-olds. She was going on a triple shift now, since they were shorthanded, and there was no place she'd rather be than the hospital with Sara and Greg.

"No," Catherine said, pushing the file back at the rookie across the table. "I didn't ask for this, take it away."

The rookie nodded quickly and took the offending file away from Catherine's gaze. She sighed and leaned back in her chair. She contemplated her predicament a moment, and then decided she was going to tell Ecklie to stuff it and leave. She got to her feet and headed towards Grissom's office, with the hope of enlisting him in her army.

When she got there, though he was deep in conversation with an unknown caller. She held her angry tongue, but found it very difficult, and waited for him to hang up.

"Where are you?" Grissom was saying. "Why did you leave?"

Catherine did not hear the response, but her curiosity had been aroused. "Grissom—"

He held up a hand to stop her in her tracks. "Greg, don't hang up," Grissom said. "If you're going to hang up, what was the point in calling?"

The change in him was so subtle, Catherine wouldn't have noticed it if she didn't know Grissom so well. His stare was blank as he hung up the phone.

"What's wrong?" she asked him.

Grissom blinked in confusion. "I have no idea who I was just speaking with," he replied.

"What did he say?"

Grissom closed his eyes. "Goodbye."

"We should go over to that hospital," Catherine said. "And now."

* * *

While Nick and Warrick alerted hospital security of his escape, Greg thanked the optometrist for his help after he hung up on Grissom, and left the office before walking right back through the hospital front doors. He thought fleetingly how conveniently placed the optometrist's office was, and that blind people must get a kick out of it. Then he wondered why blind people would bother with an optometrist and laughed at some internal cruel joke.

He casually stepped into the elevator and hit a button. He noticed the marines beginning to launch into action and was only vaguely curious as to their presence. Maybe some old general had been shot somewhere. For some reason, he got a big thrill at that thought. He whistled as he waited for the elevator to open onto the third floor before he strolled out and made his way down the hall. He glanced into his room and saw nurses and doctors examining the window, through which he had faked his escape. In truth, he had snuck out the front door while Nick and Warrick had hauled Sara off to her bed.

It was Sara that he was interested in.

Turning his back on the doctors in his room, Greg walked into Sara's, which was across the hall and closed and locked the door.

She was sleeping so soundly, he was almost averse to wake her. He approached her and ran his hands across the scars on her arms with a blank stare. So soft and sweet, he thought, like frayed silk. Even battered and bruised, she looked like an angel, sleeping her exhaustion off quietly. He would always remember how she looked in that moment: peaceful, beautiful, and strikingly vulnerable. It was the last part that he was about to exploit.

He looked over at some cabinets on the far side of the room and approached them. He dug threw a few drawers before he found a packaged syringe and opened it. He took a piece of surgical rubber and tied it around his upper-arm as a tourniquet using his teeth as a second hand. Soon, the vein revealed itself and Greg bit his lip as he drew his own blood. He stared at it in the syringe and smiled before approaching Sara again.

She began to stir, but that didn't bother him. It would be over soon enough. He pulled up the chair next to her bed and sat down, taking her arm. He looked for an appropriate vein…

"What are you doing?" she said, groggily. She recognized him and her eyes snapped open as she pulled her arm away.

Greg sighed as he stared at the place where her arm used to be. "Don't be difficult, Sara, it'll only take a moment."

She noted the syringe in his hand. "Did you just take my blood?"

"No," said Greg, closing his eyes.

"Then what's in the syringe?" she asked.

Greg flicked the shaft of the syringe. "This would be _my_ blood."

Sara's face was stoic. "You were going to infect me, weren't you?"

A slow grin spread across his face. "You kissed me back in there, Sara. It's when I realized it. I don't have to kill you. I have to make you better."

Sara sat up in her bed and tried to back away from him. "What do you mean _better_? You're…" she hesitated. "You're going to be _dead_ from that disease in three hours."

"So the doctors say," Greg said. "I beg to differ."

"You can't argue with doctors, Greg," Sara said, then added, "If you _are_ Greg."

"Of course I'm Greg," he replied. "Who else would I be?"

Sara sighed. "I don't want to lose you, Greg. Not now, not yet."

"You won't," Greg said, shrugging off the statement. "Please, Sara, do I look like someone who's about to die?"

"I can't tell anymore," Sara replied. "How do I know you're not already dead?"

He laughed a cold, cruel laugh. "Perceptive. But if I were dead, I'm sure you'd know it. I'd be lying on the ground with a cold gaze that you thought could maybe still see, still hear, as you screamed and shouted all the goodbyes you never got to say. Because you never _meant_ them in life, but in death they all of a sudden seem so _important_ somehow, and they need to be said. It's grief and the chance of a love lost that prompts those words. Nothing else."

"Stop it," Sara said, cringing at his words. "Stop talking like that."

Greg obliged as he looked at the syringe again with a wistful smile. "Have you ever wondered what kind of offspring two genetically superior specimens of the human species would produce?" Greg asked her, his eyebrows raised. "Because I have."

Sara began to feel a little nervous. She got out of the bed completely. "Greg," she said. "Stop this."

Greg smiled, and his blue eyes chilled her. He rose to his feet. "I told you, Sara," he said. "I don't want to hurt you. I want to fix you."

"I'm not broken," Sara said, making for the door.

He noticed. "You are," he said. "You just don't know it."

She was still facing him when her back made contact with the door and she fumbled behind her for the knob. It wouldn't open. Greg fished a key out of his pocket.

"It's amazing what you can find, when you look for it," he said.

Sara's eyes darted around the room until it rested on a scalpel, which was on a nearby table. She grabbed it. "I don't want to hurt you Greg, but I will. You're sick."

Greg laughed. "Everyone keeps _saying _that but I think they're just close-minded," Greg said.

Something tried to open the door from the other side. When they were unsuccessful, something banged against it. Greg seemed unusually calm as he approached Sara. She froze. He leaned in towards her, but his arms were pinned at his sides as he whispered in his ear.

"You would make one hell of a Missus," he said, before the door gave way, knocking them both over. Reflexively, her bad arm shot out in front of her to break the fall, sending a shot of pain through her shoulder and she cried out. She landed on top of Greg. He smiled up at her wickedly and she immediately rolled off of him.

"Hey there, Greggo!" Nick said, sounding irritated as he pulled Greg to his feet. "You look different, did you get a hair cut?"

Warrick kneeled down next to Sara. "You alright?" he asked her.

Sara stared up at Greg. Her eyes darted to the syringe, and she snatched it, hiding it in her sling as she put her bad arm back in it. "I'm fine," she said, getting to her feet.

Warrick chuckled. "Last time you said that, you fell down."

She glared at him. "Don't mock me," she said, then looked over at Greg who Nick was restraining him.

"Look at you," Warrick said to Greg. "Aren't you the perfect portrait of health now?"

Greg wouldn't stop smiling even as Nick pushed him into the arms of a security guard who cuffed him. "I am the peak of evolution, my friend."

"Come on, Mr. Sanders," the guard said. "I'm with hospital security, you're going to the closed ward now."

"Aw," said Greg. "But if I'm going to be dead in three hours, I would much rather spend it with my friends." He snickered while the other three CSIs shivered.

The security guard hauled him away, and Greg's friends were left alone. Sara felt suddenly cold and she rubbed her arms.

"Did he hurt you?" Nick said, concerned. "Because I love Greg, but I'm not too keen on the side of him that wants to kill you."

Sara slowly shook her head. "No," she said. "We just… talked."

"Are you sure?" Warrick asked. "He didn't do anything sketchy?"

The syringe pressed against the skin of Sara's arm in the sling. "He certainly gave me a Hannibal Lector feel but he didn't lay a finger on me."

"That doesn't fit with prognosis," Warrick said. "He's supposed to have fallen into an excessively violent state. But you say all he did was talk?" Sara nodded. " Maybe Dr. Utterson was right. Maybe this isn't the same virus."

"You think she engineered a different one?" Sara said, sounding skeptical. "All by herself?"

"I don't think she engineered a new one," Warrick said. "I think she observed the effects on Matthew and altered the existing strain."

At that second, Catherine and Grissom arrived.

"Hey," Nick said. "You missed all the fun."

"You found Greg," Grissom assumed, and the three of them nodded. "Great. Where is he now?"

"Closed ward," Warrick said. "Hospital security and our good friend the Colonel decided it would be better for everyone if he was kept under constant surveillance."

"Col. Carrew agreed to not intervene for twenty-four hours," Grissom said. "But he's still hanging around."

"I hate the military," Catherine muttered.

"I want to talk to Greg," Sara said suddenly. All eyes rested on her. She looked at them all in turn. "What? If he's not following the prognosis maybe he won't die in a few hours either. Maybe I can get through to that part of him that's still…"

"I'm not leaving you alone with him again," Grissom said.

"None of us are," Nick said. "Not even if those eyes are brown."

"Agreed," Sara said.

* * *

Before she went up to see him, she dressed back into her clothes and slipped the syringe in her jacket pocket. He wasn't at his bed. He sat at a table drawing on a piece of paper with his back to the door when she entered. He heard the door open and close but didn't look up. Sara held her breath. Grissom and the others were waiting outside, ready to respond to any sound of trouble.

"You'd think they'd get me some better accommodations," Greg said, not looking at her.

"Sorry about that," Sara said. "But you are carrying a virus that turns you into a killer."

"I get that. I'm sorry, Sara. For all the trouble I put you through."

Sara was still on her guard. "Yeah, I know. What are you drawing?"

"Doodles," he answered simply.

She wished he would turn around so she could see his eyes. "Greg, would you look at me?"

"I'd rather not, Sara sweetheart."

That in itself answered her question. "Alright. Why no violence?"

Sara watched Greg's back rise and fall as he laughed. "You think violence and deviance is embodied by a will to do severe bodily harm to others. You underestimate the taboo thoughts and emotions of the human race. We want to do far worse things to each other than simply maim and kill. The virus makes us act like the animals we are, but human beings are the most depraved animals extant today. Surely as a CSI, you've figured that out by now."

"You're talking like a sociopath," Sara noted.

"We are all sociopaths, Sara," Greg said. "Given the chance."

"I could never kill someone."

"That's a lie," Greg said casually. "You could. For plenty of justifiable, indeed even legally acceptable reasons. For instance, I bet you'd kill someone to protect someone you love. Or to protect yourself. Sane people kill each other every day. The only thing that differentiates them from the sociopaths is that the sociopaths don't see it as wrong. Does that make them worse people?"

"Can I talk to you?" Sara asked. "The you that's _not_ a sociopath?"

Greg laughed again. "I'm flattered, Sara, but I'm not a sociopath. I'm just honest."

"Can I talk to the part of you that _didn't_ try to kill me?"

"How many times do I have to _apologize_ for that before you forgive me?" Greg said, shaking his head. "I want something completely different from you now."

"And what's that?" Sara asked.

Greg's back went rigid and he clutched the pencil hard before he dropped it. It rolled across the table and onto the floor. He collapsed over the table, his hands clutching at the edges and his knuckles turning white.

"Greg?" said Sara, taking a step closer to him.

"Agh!" Greg uttered. He straightened up and breathed hard. He caught sight of what he was drawing and pushed himself away from the table so fast, his chair fell over backwards. Groaning, he stared up at Sara with brown eyes and gave her a dopey smile. "Hi, Sara."

Sara smiled and squatted down, looking at him upside down. "Hey, Greg."

Greg rubbed his head. "What happened?"

"We were just having a conversation."

"Did you see what I drew?" he asked, rolling off the chair. "How come I'm not sick?"

"We don't know, honey," Sara said honestly, helping him up to his feet. "And no, I didn't. Why?"

Greg sighed and he dusted himself off. "I don't know. It scared the hell out of me."

Sara walked over to the table, expecting to see some horrific scene. Instead, she saw only a portrait of herself, smiling. "Why?"

"I can't draw worth shit," Greg said.

Sara smiled. "It's very good," she admitted.

"I know," Greg said. "I guess it's a latent talent."

"Must be," Sara said. She turned around to face Greg and put a hand on his cheek. "It's really you."

He nodded. "It's really me."

They embraced. She hugged him so tight with her one arm, she never wanted to let him go.

He felt the tears dripping on his shoulder. "Sara? Sara, don't cry."

"Stay you," she pleaded, her voice barely a whisper. "Please, just stay you, and I won't go anywhere."

"I don't know," he said. "You should stay away from me, Sara, I could turn at any second."

He tried to push her away from him but she balled her hand into a fist, catching the back of his hospital gown in her grasp. She screwed her eyes shut tight. "No, I won't let you go."

He stopped being reluctant and tightened his own embrace. "Sh," he said into her hair. "I'm here now." He pulled away just enough to see her face. "Why did you kiss me?" he asked her. "Back there, when I was still sick. Or did I imagine that?"

Sara laughed lightly. "You didn't imagine it," she said. "You looked like you needed it."

He leant his forehead against hers. "I really did," he said. His smile became playful. "In fact, I find myself suddenly in need of another one."

She obliged with a passion as she pressed herself against him. His hands rested firmly against her back. After a moment, Greg broke the kiss and pushed Sara away from him as he doubled over in pain.

"Greg?!" Sara cried out. "Greg!"

He buried his face in his hands and rubbed fervently at his eyes. Sara reached out at him and pulled his hands away from his face. She gasped. Both his eyes were red, but only one of them was brown. The other was bright blue.

He pulled away from her and hissed like a cat. He continued rubbing at his eyes. He was shivering uncontrollably and then, suddenly, he stopped. Still doubled over, he began to laugh again.

"_Damn_, Sara…" He straightened up and grinned at her with those haunting eyes. "You crack me up. You're one hell of a kisser, too, I must say. Spunky."

Sara grit her teeth. "Get out of him."

He rolled his hand in the overture of a deep and formal bow. "If we shadows have offended, think but this and all is mended: That you have but slumbered here, while these visions did appear." He looked up at her from his low bow. "Did I ever tell you I played Puck in my high school play?" He straightened up. "I cannot get out of what I am, dear Sara. If you love Greg, then you must love me too." He approached her and seized her by the hips which made her yelp. "Aw, you set me on _fire_. And if I bother you, just close your eyes and imagine I am him. After all," he pushed her up against the wall, "I do taste just like him." Sara opened her mouth to scream but his hand flew up to stop her. "Sh," he whispered. "I promise I'll be gentle. I just want to talk."

"_Let go of me_," she ordered fiercely, but his hands merely slid around her waist as he pulled her closer to him.

"Even if I was Greg," he said. "Even if I was your knight in shining armor, come to whisk you away from the evil dragon, could you still love him? Knowing that the real dragon lived somewhere inside of him?"

Her face was stern and cold. "You are _not_ him."

He laughed and shook his head, his eyes boring into hers. "You have no idea how much of him I really am, Sara."

"I would love him," Sara hissed, "even if you really _were_ inside of him."

He kissed her hard and fiercely. She felt as though his tongue would suffocate her and she gagged, trying to push him away. Finally, he broke the kiss and stared at her. "You're on a beautiful bitch, Sara, I'll give you that. I'll give you that."

His hand traveled up her side, but Sara had had enough and she let out a loud scream. Nick and Warrick burst into the room and immediately grabbed Greg by his arms. He fought them and his grip tightened around Sara's forearm. "I told you I'd taste like him," he sneered as Nick and Warrick threw him back onto the bed.

Catherine and Grissom entered, followed by two doctors who strapped Greg into restraints on the bed. He pushed them off and broke the straps. A vein throbbed in his neck as he glared at the assembled with a mad glint to his blue eyes.

"Soon enough, you'll see," he threatened, "the Greg Sanders you know will be so far from here and all you'll be left with is _me_. The real Greg Sanders."

"You are _not_ Greg Sanders," Nick hissed.

Greg's wild eyes flew to Nick and he dared him with a raise of his eyebrows. "What do you really _know_ of the real Greg Sanders, Nick? You are not his friends. You are his colleagues. You know the lab rat, the uncertain CSI, the quirky screw-up. That person is no more Greg Sanders than I am. To truly _know_ someone, you must know _all_ of him and the only of you to succeed in that is Sara Sidle, and she loathes me for it. She has tasted the poison that runs in my veins. She knows my darkest thoughts and she is disgusted by it. I _want_ Sara Sidle, not to love me, no, but to conquer." His gaze flew to Grissom. "I want to show Gil Grissom once and for all that with all those quotes he crams in his head he doesn't know as much about the real world as he pretends to. I want to knock him down and use his face as a stepping stone." He turned to Catherine. "I want to pull Catherine Willows down from her ice throne and treat her like the whore she is." His eyes rested on Warrick. "I want to hit Warrick Brown so hard across the face he breaks his neck and then see how he reacts." He looked at Nick. "And you! You! I want to hurt Nick Stokes so bad in his heart it makes him cry and then kick him when he's down."

His friends, if they could still be called his friends, were stunned into silence. He sat staring at them all, his breath shallow and shaking as he broke out into a cold sweat.

His next words were a quiet hiss, like that of a serpent with a vendetta against its prey. "You think I was _created_ by a _virus_ but I have been here all along. The virus did not birth me, it unbound me. I am your every unkind thought, I am your every unfulfilled fantasy, I am your darkest and most shameful nightmare, and I exist in _all_ of you. I make you sick but believe me when I tell you that you and all the rules you follow disgust _me_ even more."

No one knew what to say. But Grissom was used to being lost for words. It was in these instances that he borrowed them from other people. "All human beings are commingled out of good and evil."

The grin spread slow and wide across Greg's face. "That's quite good, Grissom, did you make that up?"

"Robert Louis Stevenson," Grissom replied.

"We never finished that in high school," Greg said.

"Then let me tell you what happens," Grissom told him. "Jekyll commits suicide to escape the curse of Edward Hyde."

"Tsk, tsk, Grissom. You're still thinking of it like a disease," Greg said, shaking his head. "It isn't something that needs to be escaped. It needs to be _embraced_. Besides. Greg's too much of a coward to kill himself. And I mean _all_ of Greg."

"I'm glad," said Grissom. "Because the plan is not to let Greg die."

"Can't have one without the other, my friend," Greg said, shaking his head. His shivering was getting worse and his face was flushed. The beads of sweat dripped down his forehead. Suddenly, his chest arched forward and he threw his head back.

The doctors had snapped out of the trance that had fallen over the room and immediately went to Greg's aid as the CSIs were pushed back.

Sara bumped into Nick's shoulder. He felt her shuttering and put his arm around her, pulling her into his chest. Catherine was breathing deeply through her nose with pursed lips, her blue eyes not leaving Greg for an instant. Warrick's mouth kept opening and closing, as though searching for some elusive cure-all phrase.

Grissom's eyes were the only ones which were closed. He saw fireworks explode against his eyelids as he heard Greg's heavy breathing and the low drone of the EKG with the background noise of medical chatter. The pain began at the back of his skull and throbbed like far away thunder, threatening to bring a dark storm. Soon enough, the migraine would explode and envelope his entire skull, pounding in his ears like war drums.

Somehow, a small hand found his and the two of them interlaced fingers. He didn't open his eyes right away, but by the size and feel of the hand, he knew who it was. His lids lifted, but the fireworks continued. He looked to his right and saw Catherine standing stoic as she watched Greg. The only sign of her unbridled fear rested in the hand which was squeezing the life out of Grissom's own. Catherine was often as good at hiding her panic as he was.

Greg's scream tore through the air, and everyone wondered which part of him was screaming. Suddenly, Sara broke away from Nick's embrace and ran to Greg. The doctors protested but she paid them no heed as she ripped off her sling and seized his hand in both of hers. She spoke to him in frantic terms.

"No, Greg, do you hear me, _no_," she was saying to his darting dark eyes. "You are stronger than him! You have to _beat_ this, do you hear me?"

"I… can't…" Greg's voice was strained against the pain.

"We'll find an answer," Sara insisted. "We will never desert you. I promise, Greg, you have to promise me that you will just _hold on_!"

All of a sudden Greg nipped at her like a cur, his eyes an icy cold blue. "Do you really think that I can be destroyed? _You will never get away from me!_"

Greg roared at the ceiling, his eyes filled with panic. "He's just… just a _face_ in the _mirror_!"

His demeanor changed again as he thrashed around in the bed. "I'm what you _face_ when you look in the mirror! You cannot _control_, me Greg, so don't even try!"

But Greg ripped away from him and turned to Sara, gripping her hand firmly. "_Kill me_," he said, his voice so full of anguished fear that Sara's own emotions began to get the better of her.

"Greg… Greg please…" she stuttered.

He smiled at her as he breathed hard. "Oh Sara…" he panted. "I really do love you so much."

"Dammit!" Sara exclaimed furiously as a tear trickled down her cheek. "You can't do that, that's not fair! You can't _leave _me like this, you son of a bitch!" She sniffed and bit her lip, holding his hand close to her. "In the car, when I said I loved you…"

"Sh…" Greg said. "I'm here now."

He was mimicking himself from when they'd kissed earlier, and it broke Sara's heart. She opened her mouth to speak, but couldn't find the words. Greg's eyes rolled up into his head and the shrill drone of the EKG echoed in Sara's head.

She would not release his hand.

"No…" she said. "No, I didn't say it, I couldn't tell him—" A doctor began to pull her away, but she began to scream and cling to his hand until he pulled her off of him. "_NO!_ Let me _go!_ NO!"

She was hysterical as the doctor passed her off onto Warrick and Nick who restrained her as best they could while the doctors continued to try and resuscitate him. She continued to scream. The wound in her shoulder screamed back at her, but it wasn't the focal point of her pain and so she ignored it. Her stomach ripped its stitches and began to bleed through her shirt. She screamed at the top of her lungs. "_I love you I love you I love you!_"

Nick's face was contorted in grief as his own tears fell freely. Warrick was looking away from Greg, his grip digging deep into Sara's arm as she struggled against him. Grissom's glasses had long since been discarded as he buried his face in his hands.

Catherine remained unmoving in her stoic stance, though her hands were clenched into fists and her breathing was erratic. Her eyes glinted with a betrayal of her emotions as she swallowed incessantly, trying to open up her constricted throat. Slowly, she felt an arm around her shoulder and she leaned into Grissom, her stoicism dissolving as she crumbled in his friendly embrace. 


	10. Eyes

**So this is it then. This is the big show down. You or me or both of us, someone's gotta go.**

_Even now, you still don't _get _it. There is only one option, Greg. All or none._

**So what are we going to do?**

_What every living thing does. Fight to survive._

**And if we don't?**

_Then you will be purged of me at last._

**And if we do?**

_Then we both get what we want._

**I want you gone.**

_You want to live. I know. I _am _all of your wants._

**You're nothing but a nightmare.**

_This is no dream. And I am no demon. I am simply you. And if all goes well, I will be all of you._

**What are you talking about?**

_I am here to stay, I think. And I will flourish long after you're gone._

**No! You said there was an _us_, not a one or the other.**

_Of course. But I've lived inside you our whole life, my friend. I just think it's time for a role-reversal, don't you?_

**I will _kill_ you. Let me _be_!**

_Did you really think that I would ever let you go? I'm not even letting you slip off into death like you so _wanted _for yourself. You will never get away from me, Greg. As long as you live, I will still be here, crawling inside of you like a disease until you let me out again. _

**You have to lose control. If we live, the virus is gone, you have no power here, you have no _choice_!**

_I told you, Greg, I live deep inside you. Every day of your life you will feel me slowly ripping away at your soul. It is you who have no choice._ _They will never be able to determine where you end and I begin. We're Siamese twins, Greg. Inseparable. _

**Fuck you! Let me _go_, set me _free_!**

_You _are _me, Greg. And _we _are free as a bird._

* * *

The drone continued and the doctors stepped aside. "That's it," said the first doctor. "Stand back." They waited a second, then the second one sighed and looked up at the clock. 

"Call it?" he suggested.

All of a sudden, Greg spluttered. The EKG began a steady beep. All the tension in the room came to a climax as everything stopped and then collapsed in on itself. Sara stopped struggling and her knees gave way beneath her. Warrick held onto her, his eyes wide in surprise. Nick's tears became ones of intense relief. Catherine took a sharp intake of breath. Even Grissom's migraine seemed to pause in its assault for the vital moment.

"Mr. Sanders, can you hear me?" one of the doctors was saying.

Greg groaned and rolled over. His hands flew to his face and covered his eyes. "Yeah, I hear you," he said.

Sara regained feeling in her legs and tore away from Warrick's grip. The adrenaline rushing through her body was enough to make her burning pain feel like a dull throb. All she cared about was Greg and his eyes…

They were a warm and tired brown.

Relief washed over her and she began to kiss him fiercely, managing to get out a few words between kisses. "It's you! It's… you… It's… you… it's… YOU!"

Soon the doctors stepped aside and the others moved in around Greg.

Nick hit him lightly in the arm, wiping his face with his sleeve. "Man," he said to Greg, breathless. "Don't you _do _that to us, Greggo!"

Greg laughed lightly. "Yeah. Um. My bad?"

Grissom grabbed a chair and pulled it up, falling into it as he just shook his head. "You're OK, Greg," he said. "You'll do OK."

"No more losing time, yay," Greg said with the slight intonation of joy. "Virus gone, evil me gone, I guess we all have a happy ending." Sara's arms flung around his neck and Greg laughed in surprise. He kissed her hair. "A _really_ happy ending."

Catherine beamed. The tears still streamed down her cheeks. "You really _are_ a son of a bitch, aren't you?"

Greg rolled his eyes. "Hi Catherine, good to see you too."

"Never thought _you _of all people could scare the hell out of me," Warrick said, ruffling Greg's hair. "Not cool, Greg."

"So it's really gone?" Grissom asked. "Completely?"

"I've never felt more alive in my life," Greg said. "Or more relieved. I wrestled my demons and I won. I could… I could operate heavy machinery."

"One thing at a time," Nick said with a laugh. "How about just not flipping out on us, first?"

"I'm cool," Greg said. "I promise you guys it will never happen again."

Col. Carrew and Dr. Utterson both entered the room, followed swiftly by Brandon Carter. Carter had a black eye and looked like he'd been tossed around by the military, who had probably done more than just question him. Samantha Utterson strode forward with a smile, while Col. Henry Carrew kept his distance and an impassively militaristic expression.

"He survived!" Samantha exclaimed in exuberance. "The virus it was a success!"

Her words slowly raked themselves down Grissom's back and he jumped to his feet, anger rising in him all over again as he glared at her.

"I'm afraid you are mistaken, Dr. Utterson," he said coolly. "Greg's immune system defeated the virus. He survived the torture you put him through."

"Mr. Grissom," said Col. Carrew, stepping forward. "I am here to inform you and your team that the military has abandoned Project Hyde and you will hear no more of it from us. We trust you will not report your findings on this disease. We have judged it to be too dangerous for our use and have ordered Bennett & Locke to halt all research on it immediately."

"Project Hyde," Grissom said, tasting the name. "Creative. But thank you for that."

"We apologize for any inconvenience we have caused," said Col. Carrew, as though all they had done was interrupted Greg's lunch break. He nodded respectfully at the assembled, took his soldiers and Brandon Carter with him and disappeared.

Samantha Utterson remained. She was staring at Greg in a mixture of delight and mischief and it unnerved Grissom. "Of course, we'll want to do some tests," she said quickly. "Blood, reflexes, psych exams—"

"No," Grissom said quickly. "No, you're done here."

Her shoulders fell as her excitement quickly turned to irritation. Grissom knew what she was thinking. The military may have dropped the idea of creating the perfect soldier, but by the look in Samantha's eyes she had not. He knew that they would just get a different organization to fund them and continue on with their research. After all, they were peddling a very curious product, and there would always be someone interested in messing with human nature. The thought disturbed him, and overshadowed the joy he felt at Greg's sudden and unexpected recovery. But regardless of what they did in the future, Greg would be no part of it.

"Grissom," Catherine said softly, her hand resting on her shoulder. Grissom turned to look at his friend, who was glowing with relief. He nodded at her and pushed all thoughts of Bennett & Locke from his mind. He pulled himself back in the revelry of the moment and ignored his doubts. For now.

* * *

Greg's recovery had been almost instantaneous and he was released from the hospital the next day with a full bill of health. Grissom had suggested he take a leave of absence, but Greg brushed him off and went into work the same day he'd been released from the hospital. Grissom still tried to send him home, but he just stood there until he got a case. He worked efficiently and effectively, and joked with his friends as if the whole episode had never happened. By the end of a shift, he had not only succeeded in solving the rape case he shared with Nick, but also Sara and Warrick's murder case.

The major change around the lab was not actually Greg, but Sara, who seemed to smile more as she kissed Greg every chance she got.

It was obvious to everyone that Greg's close encounter with his other self as well as his near-death experience had sparked him into action. He officially had asked Sara out the moment he was fully conscious again. And ever since, they'd been inseparable. Sara's eyes would always light up when he entered the room, and he was always distracted when she walked by.

"Hey there," Sara said as she saw Greg walking down the hall. He winked at her.

"Funny what it took for us to hook up, eh?" he asked, sliding his arms around her waist.

"Well, what can I say?" Sara said, casually. "I have a weakness for sick guys."

"Florence Nightingale Effect," Greg said playfully, as he twirled a strand of her hair around her finger.

"Nice work with our murder," Sara said. "It was setup like a suicide, Warrick and I might have—"

"You just gotta get inside their heads," Greg said, pointing to his temple. "Recently, I've been pretty good at that."

Sara bit her lip and looked down. "I wanted to talk to you about that actually."

"Everything OK, Sara?" he asked, his voice laden with concern.

She looked up and beamed at him. "Now that you are? Of course. But… You asked me if I could still love you, knowing what was inside of you."

"I did?" Greg said, paling. "Sara…"

"I just wanted to tell you, Greg," Sara continued, "that you're one hell of a fighter. And you were right, in a way. We all have our ugly sides. I wouldn't be able to love you completely if I didn't know that."

"Sara, I just— That wasn't me, he said and did things that I don't even remember ever considering in my life, so whatever he said—" Greg interrupted himself and grinned at her. "Did you just say you love me?"

She grinned and kissed him. "You're so cute sometimes."

"Only sometimes?"

She grinned at him.

"You off soon?"

"Give me ten minutes," she replied, holding up a folder between them. "Results for the Danvers case."

He kissed her on the forehead quickly before breaking the embrace. "Good, we'll catch breakfast. See you in ten."

He strode down the hall towards the locker room as a piece of paper fell out of his pocket. Sara picked it up and noted it was the portrait Greg had drawn of her in the hospital. She turned it over and found a note.

_Sara— things aren't looking so good for me, so I just wanted to write this down in case I never had the chance to tell you. If I die, or if I come out wrong somehow, don't worry about me, babe. I'll be OK. So long as you are. _

_Love you.  
Greg.  
Seriously, the real Greg. _

Sara chuckled lightly at a note that, had she found it in the event of Greg's death, would have brought her to tears. She folded it up and pocketed it and felt the syringe she'd taken from the hospital. Frowning, she took it out and looked at the blood inside. Curious, she headed back toward the lab and put a drop of the blood on the slide.

The blood hadn't been refrigerated, but apparently, it didn't matter. Looking through the microscope, Sara gasped at what she saw. The cells were as healthy as could be and continued in their life processes, still kicking when they should have died. Sara pulled away from the microscope and furrowed her brow in confusion before looking at the blood again. They were reproducing. They were mutated. The virus had changed them, it seemed, but Sara saw know signs of a malignant agent. Indeed, the virus was gone, but the mutation remained.

But no, that was impossible. Greg was Greg, just as he'd always been. And on top of that, his eyes weren't changing color on them, he wasn't flipping out or talking like a psychopath. He was acting Greg-like. He had won. He had beat out the virus and conquered everything.

In spite all odds.

In spite _all_ of the odds. They had all expected Greg to die. But instead, he made a full recovery within days. Was it really all too good to be true?

Sara cleaned up the slide and pulled out the note Greg had written to her. _I'll be OK. So long as you are._ And she was OK. As long as Greg loved her.

She picked up the syringe and stared at it for a moment, before she disposed of it. So a few little blood cells were mutated! That blood had been taken _before_ Greg had recovered; it didn't mean anything… did it?

* * *

Greg strode into the bathroom and splashed his face with cold water. He was looking forward to taking Sara out to dinner. It would be their first official date, and he looked forward to sweeping her off her feet. He put on some cologne then looked in the mirror and laughed at what he saw.

When he'd washed his face, one of his contacts had fallen out. He saw it clinging to the side of the sink and picked it up, looking at it balance on his finger with a smile. "What a clever little thing this is," he said to himself. He looked at his eyes in the mirror and shook his head.

Staring back out at him was a bright blue eye next to a brown one. If he had been anyone else, he might think it was eerie. He gripped the edges of the sink with his hands and leaned in close to the mirror, staring into his own eyes for a very long time.

"Ironic," he said, "that the id should play the ego and still adhere to societal standards."

He carefully reapplied the contact into the offending eye and blinked a few times before flashing his reflection a winning smile. "But don't you worry about a thing. I still know how to get what I want."

For the finishing touch, he whipped out a pair of shades and put them on. "Much better," he said, before leaving the bathroom to meet up with Sara for their dinner date.


	11. Special Features

_**Author's Note/Director's Commentary:**_ I thought I'd save you from this in the previous chapter, but you can't escape it here. Unless you don't read it. Anyways. Be happy, I didn't kill him. Kinda. So inevitably I DIDN'T go with this ending because... Eh, I didn't want to imply that Greg was going to hurt Sara... which he's not, because that wouldn't be "fitting in." I also wanted to attack the irony of the situation, in fact I wanted to note it _so badly_ that I outright _said _it in the chosen ending. The only appeal this ending has over the one I chose is it's relevance to the musical version of Jekyll and Hyde, in which Hyde goes on a killing spree against the hypocrtits who wronged him (including one corrupt military general, and a filandering priest).

**Explination of Names:** Sir Danvers Carrew, in Robert Louis Stevenson's novel is a man murdered by Hyde for simply getting in his way on his way home. In the musical version, Sir Danvers Carrew is the father of Henry Jekyll's fiance Emma, and is also murdered by Hyde. You'll note that Colonel Henry Carrew was named after the knight. The name "Danvers" also comes up in the end of last chapter as the case Sara was working on. John Utterson, in Stevenson's novel and the musical, is Henry Jekyll's best friend and lawyer. In the novel, Utterson actually narrates the first half, and Jekyll the second half via a suicide note (which is addressed to Utterson). I would have included more references, if I had thought about it in time. But I'm not that smart.

**Recomendations and acknowledgements:** If you want to explore the theme of duality in human nature, you should read the Stevenson novel. Or, for a quick and musical adventure, see/listen to the musical. I recomend watching David Hasslehoff (I know, I wouldn't have chose him, but he's good in this somehow) singing "Confrontation" on YouTube. Got some lines from some of the lyrics from that musical. Also, I don't own CSI, or the original story of Jekyll and Hyde, which served as inspiration for this piece of fan fiction.

**Shameless Plug:** _Fine Flowers In The Valley_, a slightly humours, slightly tragic ghost story starring Catherine and Sara (pairings played with, but mostly Sandle and YoBling) will be up shortly. For an idea of what it's about, google the title. Also writing _Gruesome Grissom Presents Tales From The Lab Keeper_,_ Bloody Sunday_, and _Leave the Light On_, summaries for which can be found in my profile. Not all may be finished. Wow. This is longer than the actual chapter. Oh well.

* * *

ALTERNATE ENDING!

* * *

Greg tossed his keys up in the air and caught them again as he walked outside in the warm Las Vegas sun. He slipped into the front seat and looked at himself in the rearview mirror. 

"Damn, you really are a lady killer," he said, smugly. He thought about where he would take Sara on their first date. Somewhere classy, he wanted to make a good impression. His eyes began to irritate him and so he bent over and took out his contacts. He thought he looked pretty good with blue eyes. Too bad no one else did. But thanks to that optometrist, he'd been able to be the Greg they wanted.

He felt as though he was forgetting something. He stared into his own blue eyes in the rearview mirror as he tried to remember. Suddenly, it hit him. He put his contacts back in quickly, then got out of the car before walking to the back and popping the drunk. He grinned down at his cargo.

"Sorry, Col. Carrew," he said to the bound man. "Can't have you making a ruckus when I have a date in the car, can I?" He took out a knife. Col. Carrew began to protest. Greg pulled down his gag. "I'm sorry, Colonel, what did you say? I didn't quite catch that."

"Why do you want to kill me?"

"There are all kinds of evil, Colonel," Greg said, examining his knife. "Hypocrisy is one of the worst, wouldn't you say? You killed Greg. So now, Greg is going to kill you. Have a nice afterlife."

As calm as a deep lake, Greg slit his throat and tossed the knife in next to him. He closed the trunk. "I'll deal with you later," he said, before strolling back to the driver's seat to wait for Sara.


End file.
